Itvn.  /  fc»  r>  Cf^I  UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 

U  N I V  E  H  SI  i  1. 1  iiii  im  mi  ill  m|  mi  mi  m  i  i  1 1     ; 

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*     %*  *    THE 
JUVENILE  FORGET  ME  NOT; 


CABINET 


OF 


ENTERTAINMENT  AND   INSTRUCTION. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR 


THE  RIVAL  CRUS0E9,"  "  THE  YOUNG  EMIGRANT,"  ETC, 


NEW- YORK. 

REPRINTED  FOR  IV.  B,  G1LLET,  94  BRl-ADWAT. 

1828. 


t>Ol*yh_ 


Gray  &  Bunce,  Printers. 


CONTENTS, 


Tage 

Forget  me  not 5 

Felix  and  his  Dove 6 

Some  Account  of  the  Hermit  Crab ......  13 

The  Infant  Brother ,  16 

The  young  Christian  Convert 18 

Lines  written  on  a  purple  Flower  growing  on  the 

Ruins  of  Norwich  Wall , 21 

Instance  of  strict  Veracity  in  a  young  Prince 23 

The  Sabbath  Bell 26 

How  do  you  spend  your  Allowance 27 

The  Evening  Primrose * 31 

Memoirs  of  the  young  Duke  of  Burgundy 32 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  an  Infant 39 

St.  John  and  the  fallen  Proselyte 40 

Description  cf  the  Grotto  of  Antiparos 50 

Hymn  to  the  Creator 58 

Some  Account  of  the  Termes  Fatale  Bellicasus,  or 

White  Ant,  Native  of  Africa 60 

The  Orphan  Brother  and  Sister 66 

On  Charity 82 

Account  of  Paper.     Its  Origin  and  Uses 84 

Onthe  Wasteof  Time 89 

Paraphrase  of  Part  of  Psalm  LXXVII 91 


IV  CONTENTS. 

...  > 

A  Lesson  on  Contentment 92 

The  ButterBy  Flower 102 

The  Return  of  the  Swallow 104 

Origin  of  the  Christian  Sabbath.... 105 

The  young  Greek  Slaves 108 

Lines  on  an  ancient  Sundial 124 

The  Leaf-cutter  Bee 126 

A  Retrospective  Review 130 

A  Contented  Man 134 

The  Better  Land 143 


THE 


JUVENILE   FORGET   ME  JVOT. 


FORGET  ME  NOT, 


"  Forget  me  not  !"  in  accents  mild, 
My  mother  says,  "  beloved  child ! 
Forget  me  not,  when  far  away 
Amidst  a  thoughtless  world  you  stray. 
Forget  me  not,  when  fools  would  win 
Your  footsteps  to  the  paths  of  sin. 
Forget  me  not,  when  urged  to  wrong 
By  passions  and  temptations  strong. 
Forget  me  not.  when  pleasure's  snare 
Would  lead  you  from  the  house  of  prayer 

"  Forget  me  not,  in  feeble  age, 
But  let  me  then  your  thoughts  engage  : 
And  think,  my  child,  how  fondly  I 
Watch'd  o'er  your  helpless  infancy. 
Forget  me  not,  when  death  shall  close 
These  eyelids  in  their  last  repose  ; 
B 


6  THE    JUVENILE 

And  evening  breezes  softly  wave 
The  grass  upon  thy  mother's  grave. 
Oh  !  then  whate'er  thy  age  and  lot 
May  be,  my  child  !  Forget  me  not 


FELIX  AND  HIS  DOVE. 


In  a  city  of  Spain,  called  Toledo,  lived  a 
widow  and  her  young  son.  She  had  once  been 
rich,  but  was  now  so  poor  that  she  was  forced 
to  get  her  living  by  embroidering  tresses  in  na- 
tural flowers.  This  was  a  very  tedious  employ- 
ment, and  she  had  great  difficulty  in  earning 
enough  money  to  maintain  herself  and  her  little 
boy :  for  Felix  was  not  old  enough  to  work  for 
himself.  He  was,  however,  very  diligent  in 
learning  to  read  and  write,  and  was  very  good 
and  dutiful  to  his  mother,  and  used  to  wind  her 
silks  and  thread  her  needles  with  the  different 
colours  she  used ;  he  was  always  ready  to  pick 
up  her  scissars  or  thimble  when  they  happened 
to  fall  from  her  hand :  in  the  evening  he  read 
aloud  to  amuse  her,  trimmed  the  lamp,  or  sung 
a  vesper  hymn. 

Felix  never  teased  his  mother  to  buy  him 
fruit  or  sweet  cakes,  for  he  knew  she  could  not 
afford  to  expend  her  money  in  such  things;  for 
Felix  loved  his  mother  very  dearly,  and  wa* 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  7 

always  cheerful  and  happy  when  he  was  near 
her,  for  Felix  had  a  contented  heart. 

He  had  no  toys  to  play  with,  but  he  had  a 
tame  turtle-dove,  which  he  loved  very  much, 
and  it  was  very  fond  of  him,  and  would  sit  on 
his  shoulder  and  eat  out  of  his  hand ;  and  he 
always  spared  a  part  of  his  meals  for  his  dove, 
though  he  had  not  more  food  than  was  sufficient 
for  himself. 

Now  the  Governor  of  Toledo  lived  very  near 
the  house  in  which  Felix  and  his  mother  dwelt ; 
and  he  had  an  only  son  named  Pedro,  who  was 
of  the  same  age  as  Felix.  Pedro  had  fine  and 
costly  clothes  to  wear,  nice  things  to  eat,  servants 
to  wait  on  him,  and  so  many  toys  to  play  with 
that  they  filled  one  room  entirely ;  but  yet  he 
was  not  happy,  for  he  was  of  a  cross,  fretful, 
and  discontented  disposition. 

One  day  he  saw  Felix  standing  at  the  door 
of  his  mother's  house  caressing  his  turtle-dove, 
which  was  perched  on  his  finger.  "  Oh !  what 
a  beautiful  dove;  and  how  tame  it  is!"  said 
Pedro  to  one  of  his  attendants.  "  Go,"  added 
he,  "  and  tell  that  boy  I  want  to  buy  it  of  him." 

The  servant  accordingly  went  to  Felix,  and 
told  him  the  governor's  son  wished  to  purchase 
his  dove.  "  I  will  not  sell  my  pretty  dove,"  said 
Felix,  coaxing  her  soft  feathers,  and  kissing  her 
with  great  affection. 

"  You  are  a  foolish  little  boy,  I  can  tell  you," 
said  the  servant,  "  for  my  young  lord  will  give 
you  a  good  price  for  her,  perhaps  as  much  as  a 


THE    JUVENILE 


pistole  [now  a  pistole  is  a  Spanish  coin  worth 
sixteen  shillings  and  ninepence  ;]  and  you  might 
get  many  fine  things  for  that  piece  of  money, 
far  better  than  a  silly  dove."  "  That  may  be," 
said  Felix,  "  but  I  love  my  dove  better  than  any 
thing  in  the  world  except  my  mother,  and  my 
dove  loves  me,  and  I  would  not  sell  her  for 
twenty  pistoles."  When  young  Pedro  heard 
this,  he  was  very  angry,  and  would  not  eat ;  and 
the  servants  told  the  governor  that  their  young 
lord  would  fret  himself  sick  if  he  did  not  have 
the  dove. 

Now  Don  Rodriguez  the  governor  was  a 
brave  and  sensible  man.  He  had  been  absent 
from  home  commanding  the  armies  of  his  sove- 
reign during  the  chief  part  of  his  little  son's 
life ;  and  when  he  returned  to  hold  the  highest 
station  in  his  native  city,  he  was  grieved  to  find 
what  deep  root  evil  passions  had  taken  in  the 
heart  of  his  young  heir ;  and  he  anxiously  re- 
volved in  his  own  mind  the  measures  best  fitted 
to  improve  his  character.  He  now  sent  for 
Pedro,  and  reproved  him  for  his  covetousness, 
and  bade  him  remember  that  he  had  every  thing 
he  could  desire,  excepting  this  dove,  which  was 
the  property  of  the  widow's  son ;  and  since  the 
boy  did  not  wish  to  part  with  the  bird,  it  was 
wrong  to  desire  to  possess  it.  And  he  forbade 
Pedro  to  mention  it  again. 

About  this  time  the  mother  of  Felix  fell  ill, 
and  could  not  work  at  her  employment ;  and 
soon  after  she  took  to  her  bed :  the  little  stock 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  9 

of  money  that  she  had  laid  by  to  pay  her  rent 
was  soon  expended,  and  she  had  no  means  of 
obtaining  a  fresh  supply. 

Felix,  who  had  nursed  his  mother  with  great 
tenderness,  observed  that  she  shed  tears  when 
she  gave  him  her  last  piece  of  money  to  pur- 
chase a  small  loaf  of  bread,  and*  lie  asked  her 
why  she  wept. 

"  Alas,  my  child !"  said  she,  "  when  this  is 
gone,  we  must  both  perish  for  want.  I  have  no 
more  money  to  buy  bread." 

"  Do  not  cry,  dearest  mother,"  said  Felix, 
kissing  the  tears  from  his  mother's  cheeks.  "  I 
will  go  and  ask  charity  of  our  neighbours." 
"  That  will  be  of  no  'use,  Felix,"  said  his  mo- 
ther, "  for  they  will  say  we  cannot  need  assist- 
ance when  we  keep  a  bird  for  which  you  have 
refused  a  pistole."  Felix  was  very  sad  when  he 
heard  his  mother  say  this  ;  but  though  the  dove 
was  veiy  dear  to  him,  his  mother  was  more  so, 
,  and  he  resolved  rather  to  part  with  the  dove  than 
suffer  her  to  want  for  any  thing. 

Felix  took  his  little  favourite  out  of  her  cage, 
and  carried  her  to  the  governor's  palace ;  and 
told  Pedro's  servant  that  he  was  ready  to  sell  his 
dove  if  his  young  lord  would  give  him  a  pistole 
for  her. 

Pedro  was  very  glad  when  he  heard  this,  and 
ordered  the  servant  to  give  Felix  a  gold  pistole, 
and  bring  the  dove  to  him. 

Then  Felix  brought  the  money  to  his  mother, 

and  told  her  what  he  had  done  ;  and  she  kissed 

her  little  son  very  tenderlv,  and  told  him  she  w?*s 

B  2 


10  the  Juvenile 

now  convinced  that  he  loved  her,  since  he  had 
given  such  a  proof  of  his  affection  and  duty. 
Felix  turned  away  his  head  that  his  mother  might 
not  see  he  had  been  crying  ;  for  he  thought  she 
would  be  grieved  if  she  knew  how  much  his  self- 
denial  had  cost  him,  and  he  did  every  thing  in 
his  power  to  appear  cheerful,  and  to  make  her 
think  he  did  not  mind  the  loss  of  his  little  fa- 
vourite. 

When  the  governor  saw  the  dove  in  Pedro's 
possession,  as  he  was  aware  of  his  son's  faulty 
character,  he  became  fearful  that  Pedro  had 
obtained  it  by  improper  means ;  so  he  sent  for 
Felix,  and  asked  him  if  he  had  parted  with  his 
dove  willingly. 

"  Not  willingly,  my  lord,"  said  Felix,  "  but 
because  my  duty  required  that  I  should  sell  it." 
"  How  so,  my  little  friend  V  asked  the  governor. 
"  Because  my  mother  is  ill  and  in  distress,  and  I 
could  not  see  her  starve  when  I  had  this  dove, 
which  would  procure  necessaries  for  us  both; 
but  it  almost  broke  my  heart  to  part  with  my 
dove,  for  I  have  only  my  mother  and  that  to 
love ;"  and  Felix  turned  away,  to  hide  the  tears 
which  filled  his  eyes.  The  good  governor  was 
so  charmed  by  the  conduct  of  the  widow's  son, 
that  he  sent  for  his  own  physician,  and  gave  him 
orders  to  attend  on  Felix's  mother,  and  see  that 
she  wanted  neither  physic  nor  proper  nourish- 
ment; and  she  soon  recovered  from  her  illness, 
and  was  able  to  resume  her  employment. 

Some  time  after  this  the  governor  invited  Fe- 
lix to  come  to  a  feast,  which  was  made  in  honour 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  11 

few; 
of  his  son  Pedro's  birthday.  When  the  repast 
was  ended,  a  servant  placed  a  basket  on  the  table 
before  Felix,  which  the  governor  bade  him  open, 
saying,  "  It  is  a  present  from  my  son !" 

When  Felix  raised  the  lid,  his  beloved  turtle- 
dove flew  out  and  nestled  in  his  bosom.  He 
gave  a  ciy  of  joy,  and  kissed  her  a  thousand 
times  ;  but,  after  a  few  moments'  reflection,  he 
said,  "  Perhaps,  my  lord  Pedro,  it  will  make  you 
unhappy  to  part  with  the  dove ;  I  will  not  take 
her  away  from  you  if  it  will  give  you  pain." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  replied  Pedro,  "  I  re- 
sign her  freely ;  and  it  gives  me  pleasure  to  re- 
turn her  to  you,  since  you  love  her  so  much.  I 
have  been  a  proud  and  unfeeling  boy ;  but,  since 
my  father  has  informed  me  of  your  good  con- 
duct, and  has  reasoned  with  me  on  my  faults,  I 
have  resolved  to  overcome  my  selfish  habits ; 
and  as  I  enter  on  my  tenth  year  to-day,  I  mean 
to  mark  it  by  the  performance  of  my  first  kind 
action ;  which  I  pray  to  God  may  be  followed 
by  others  more  worthy  of  remembrance." 

Then  the  governor  embraced  his  son,  and 
told  Felix  that,  if  he  liked,  he  should  live  in  the 
plaace,  and  be  the  companion  of  his  son's  stu- 
dies and  amusements;  for  Pedro  had  no  bro- 
ther. 

"  I  should  like  to  accept  your  generous  ofFe- 
very  much,"  said  Felix  (who  already  loved  Per 
dro  for  having  so  kindly  restored  his  little  pet,) 
but  then  I  should  be  obliged  to  leave  my  dear 
mother,  and  she  would  be  so  sad  and  lonely 


12 


THE    JUVENILE 


without  her  little  Felix.  No,  my  lord,  I  cannot 
forsake  her  even  to  live  in  a  palace." 

"  Now,  my  fine  fellow,  I  love  you  the  better 
for  that  thought,"  said  the  governor.  u  Yci . 
shall  not,  however,  be  separated  from  your  mo- 
ther, for  I  will  give  her  an  employment  in  my 
lady's  apartment,  where  her  labours  will  be  light, 
and  she  may  see  you  daily. 

Felix  could  scarcely  find  words  to  express  his 
gratitude  to  his  kind  friend.  That  very  day  he 
made  his  mother  acquainted  with  the  governor's 
design,  and  they  shortly  afterwards  took  up  their 
abode  in  the  palace. 

Pedro  proved  the  sincerity  of  his  resolution 
by  the  affection  which  he  bestowed  on  Felix ; 
who  on  his  part  was  always  meek,  grateful,  and 
attentive  to  his  young  lord.  They  became  firm- 
ly attached  to  each  other,  and  continued  great 
friends  as  long  as  they  lived. 


FORGET    ME    NOT. 


13 


SOME  ACCOUNT 


THE   HERMIT    CRAB. 


The  Hermit  (or  Diogenes)  Crab  is  so  called 
from  its  solitary  disposition,  and  from  its  choos- 
ing the  deserted  shell  of  some  other  fish  for  a 
habitation,  which  it  changes  according  to  its 
increase  of  growth. 

Nature  denies  it  the  protection  of  a  strong 
covering  on  the  back  like  the  rest  of  its  species ; 
but  has,  with  admirable  wisdom,  endowed  it 
with  an  instinct  which  directs  it  to  seek  refuge 
in  the  cavity  of  some  other  shell  on  the  sea- 
shore. 

It  crawls  veiy  fast  along  the  beach,  with  its 
shell  on  its  back,  and  at  the  approach  of  danger 
withdraws  itself  into  the  shell ;  and,  thrusting 
out  the  larger  claw,  will  pinch  severely  whatever 
attempts  to  molest  it.  It  is  furnished  with  a 
strong  hook,  by  the  aid  of  which  it  secures  itself 
in  its  lodging. 


14  THE    JUVENILE 

It  is  very  amusing  to  observe  the  motions  of 
this  animal  when  desirous  of  changing  its  shell : 
it  is  then  seen  parading  along  that  line  of  sea- 
weed, pebbles,  and  shells,  which  may  be  observ- 
ed at  high  water  mark,  dragging  its  old  incon- 
venient habitation  after  it,  unwilling  to  part  with 
one  dwelling  until  it  is  sure  of  finding  one  more 
agreeable. 

It  is  seen  stopping  at  one  shell,  turning  it,  and 
passing  on  to  another,  contemplating  the  second 
for  a  while,  slipping  its  tail  from  the  old  to  try 
on  the  new  one ;  if  this  proves  also  inconvenient, 
it  quickly  regains  the  old  one,  and  proceeds  in 
its  search  for  a  better. 

In  this  manner  it  goes  on  till  it  finds  a  shell 
sufficiently  light  and  commodious,  though  the 
new  one  is  sometimes  so  large  as  entirely  to 
conceal  the  Hermit  from  sight,  besides  the  diffi- 
culty of  suiting  itself  with  a  proper  habitation. 
It  has  yet  other  trials ;  a  fierce  battle  often  en- 
sues between  two  Hermits  for  one  favourite 
shell,  which  of  course  can  only  be  obtained  by 
the  strongest,  They  strike  with  their  claws, 
they  pinch,  and  otherwise  annoy  each  other,- 
till  the  weakest  is  obliged  to  give  up  the  object 
of  dispute.  The  victor,  having  obtained  pos- 
session of  the  contested  shell,  parades  it  back- 
ward and  forward  on  the  sand  in  triumph  before 
his  discontented  and  envious  antagonist.  From 
its  warlike  disposition  this  species  is  also  called 
the  Soldier  Crab.  It  is  mostly  found  to  inhabit 
deserted  whelk  shells. 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  15 

The  Hermit  Crab  generally  frequents  those 
parts  on  the  seashore  which  are  scattered  with 
trees  and  shrubs,  bearing  wild  fruits  or  berries ; 
on  which  it  subsists,  although  it  will  eat  frag- 
ments of  fish  and  other  animal  substances  which 
are  washed  on  shore  by  the  waves.  When  at- 
tacked by  other  crabs,  or  taken  by  fishermen,  it 
utters  a  cry,  weak  but  sharp  in  sound. 


16  THE  JUVENILE 


INFANT   BROTHER, 


How  sweetly  on  his  mother's  breast 

My  infant  brother  sleeps ; 
I  love  to  watch  his  placid  rest, 

But  see !  he  wakes  and  weeps  ! 

Hush,  dearest  baby !  hush  those  cries, 

Thou  hast  no  cause  for  wo ; 
Oh !  why  should  tear-drops  fill  thine  eyes, 

Since  grief  thou  canst  not  know? 

Thy  gentle  heart  is  pure  within, 
And,  though  'midst  sinners  born, 

Thou  art  a  stranger  yet  to  sin, 
Then  why  should  baby  mourn  ? 

Thou  know'st  not  yet  of  care  and  strife, 
Although  thou  both  must  prove ; 

For  all  that  thou  hast  known  of  life 
Is  tenderness  and  love. 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  17 

Oh !  would,  dear  baby,  that  I  were 

As  guiltless  as  thou  art ; 
And  might  preserve  unstain'd  and  fair 

Such  purity  of  heart. 

Then  why,  dear  infant,  shouldst  thou  weep, 

Whilst  thou  art  free  from  guile  1 
If  thou  that  spotless  state  couldst  keep, 

Thou  might'st  for  ever  smile. 

Then  smile,  my  darling,  sweetly  yet, 

Ere  human  care  and  wo, 
And  sin's  dire  snares  thy  soul  beset, 

And  cause  thy  tears  to  flow. 

Ah,  once  again,  dear  babe !  I  see 

Peace  resting  on  thy  brow : 
Oh,  would  that  thou  couldst  ever  be 

As  innocent  as  now. 


18  THE    JUVENILE 


YOUNG  CHRISTIAN  CONVERT. 

A  great  many  hundred  years  ago,  when 
Jerusalem  was  besieged  by  the  Romans,  there 
was  a  little  girl  named  Mary,  whose  father  was 
a  rich  man  among  the  Jews,  but  her  mother 
was  a  Christian,  and  had  taught  Mary  to  be- 
lieve in  the  Son  of  God,  and  to  live  according 
to  his  holy  word  and  commandment. 

At  that  time  Christians  were  mocked  and 
cruelly  treated,  and  often  put  to  death  on  ac- 
count of  their  religion ;  but  Mary  and  her  mo- 
ther put  their  trust  in  God,  and  did  not  fear  the 
wicked  men,  who  could  indeed  kill  the  body, 
but  had  no  power  to  hurt  the  soul. 

Now  it  happened  that  Mary's  father  was  slain 
during  the  siege,  and  the  chief  rulers  among 
the  Jews  seized  all  his  wealth,  and  put  Mary 
and  her  mother  into  prison,  because  they  would 
not  deny  their  belief  in  the  Lord  Jesus. 

They  suffered  many  things  in  prison  hard  to- 
be  borne  at  first,  and  Mary's  mother  fell  ill  with 
a  dangerous  fever ;  but  Mary  nursed  her  so  ten- 
derly, and  prayed  to  God  for  his  assistance  so 
earnestly,  that  it  pleased  him  to  touch  the  gaol- 
er's heart  with  compassion ;  so  that,  instead  of 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  19 

the  coarse  and  scanty  prison  allowance,  he  gave 
them  nourishing  food,  and  visited  and  comfort- 
ed them  in  their  affliction. 

The  gaoler  was  a  good  man,  and  often  in 
the  dead  of  night,  when  the  other  prisoners 
were  asleep,  and  he  heard  Mary  singing  her 
sweet  hymns,  and  repeating  her  prayers  by  the 
bed  of  her  sick  mother,  he  would  listen  to  her ; 
and  when  he  heard  her  making  supplication  to 
God  to  forgive  their  enemies,  even  those  hard- 
hearted men  who  had  spoiled  them  of  their 
substance,  and  put  them  in  prison,  he  thought 
that  religion  must  be  right  which  made  Mary 
and  her  mother  so  good :  and  he  came  so  often 
to  listen  to  their  prayers,  and  inquired  of  them 
so  earnestly  concerning  him  in  whose  name 
they  put  their  trust,  that  at  last  he  became  him- 
self a  Christian. 

When  Mary's  mother  died,  the  good  gaoler 
took  Mary  into  his  own  family,  and  she  soon 
made  his  children  as  good  and  pious  as  she  was 
herself. 

Now  it  happened  about  this  time  that  God 
sent  a  dreadful  famine  into  Jerusalem,  to  pun- 
ish the  JeAvs  for  their  cruelty  to  the  Christians ; 
and  many  persons  died  through  extreme  hun- 
ger: and  those  wicked  men  who  had  robbed 
Mary  and  her  mother  of  their  substance,  soon 
spent  the  riches  they  had  taken  from  the  widow 
and  the  orphan, ,  and  were  starved  to  death ; 
while  Mary  was  actually  preserved  from  perish- 
ing by  being  in  prison;  for  the  gaoler  had  laid 


20  THE   JUVENILE 

by  a  store  of  provisions  against  the  time  of 
scarcity :  and  though  there  was  barely  sufficient 
for  the  support  of  his  family,  he  had  compas- 
sion on  his  young  prisoner,  and  gave  her  an 
equal  share  with  his  own  children.  So  Mary 
did  eat  of  his  own  meat,  and  drank  of  his  own 
cup,  and  was  to  him  as  a  daughter. 

Thus  you  see  God  did  not  forsake  Mary,  who 
put  her  trust  in  -him,  and  when  almost  every 
child  in  Jerusalem  perished  on  account  of  the 
famine,  he  raised  up  a  friend  for  her  who  feared 
him,  and  saved  her  alive. 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  21 


LINES 


WRITTEN    ON    A     FURPLE     FLOWER    GROWING     ON 
THE    RUINS    OF    NORWICH    WALL. 


Sweet  flower,  whose  purple  lustre  bright, 
As  waving  with  the  evening  breeze, 

Is  soften'd  by  the  pale  moonlight, 

Which  sheds  its  radiance  through  the  trees. 

Sprung  from  a  hard  and  flinty  soil, 
Which  promised  not  a  child  so  fair, 

Raised  without  labour,  care,  or  toil, 
Thou  spread'st  thy  fragrance  to  the  air. 

From  ruin'd  pride  and  fallen  state 

Thy  matchless  colours  own  their  birth ; 

An  emblem  of  the  changeful  fate 
That  waits  us  in  our  lot  on  earth. 

Those  flowers  that  now  so  brightly  wave 
Their  purple  honours  from  on  high, 

No  tint  of  brilliancy  shall  save 

When  autumn's  chilly  blast  is  nigh. 
C  2 


22  THE  JUVENILE 

And  quickly  will  the  ruin'd  wall, 

Which  gave  the  floweret  birth,  decay ; 

Soon  will  its  latest  remnant  fall, 
And  all  remembrance  pass  away. 

With  such  reverse  is  mark'd  the  fate 
Of  those  who  seek  the  fading  wreath 

Bestow'd  by  grandeur,  fame,  and  state, 
Nor  heed  the  hastening  shades  of  death. 

Yes,  they  are  like  thee,  lovely  flower ! 

Like  thy  bright  colours  pass  away: 
Their  beauties  vain,  their  boasted  power, 

The  fleeting  glories  of  a  day. 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  23 


INSTANCE  OF  STRICT  VERACITY 


IN 


A  YOUNG  PRINCE. 


When  King  Charles  the  First  was  put  to 
death  by  his  rebellious  subjects  in  1G49,  three 
*>£  his  children,  James  Duke  of  York  (after- 
wards King  James  the  Second,)  Hemy  Duke 
of  Gloucester,  and  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  were 
in  the  hands  of  his  enemies,  and  by  them  con- 
fined in  the  palace  of  Whitehall. 

The  queen  their  mother,  then  in  France, 
Was  very  uneasy  at  the  situation  of  her  chil- 
dren, and  caused  a  letter  to  be  privately  con- 
veyed to  Prince  James,  urging  him  to  endea- 
vour to  make  his  escape  from  the  enemies  of 
his  father,  in  whose  custody  he  was  detained. 

The  young  prince,  in  obedience  to  her  com- 
mands, made  the  attempt,  but  was  discovered 
and  taken  before  the  council,  where  he  was 
-strictly  questioned  in  order  to  discover  the 
^persons  who  were  privy  to  his  intended  flight, 
and  who  were  his  advisers  in  the  affair. 


24  THE    JUVENILE 

To  these  questions  the  young  duke  refused 
to  answer,  with  a  firmness  extraordinary  for 
his  age  (not  having  yet  attained  his  thirteenth 
year.)  The  members  of  the  council  used  very 
severe  menaces  and  threats  to  frighten  him 
into  betraying  his  friends,  but  to  no  purpose. 

Finding  his  resolution  was  not  to  be  shaken, 
they  proceeded  to  search  him;  and  having 
found  the  queen's  letter  on  his  person,  they 
threatened  to  commit  him  to  the  Tower  unless 
he  gave  a  solemn  promise  not  to  receive  any 
letters  unknown  to  the  council  for  the  future. 

At  first  the  prince  refused  to  comply  with 
this  injunction ;  but  one  of  those  present,  tak- 
ing him  aside,  reminded  him  that  the  Tower 
was  a  fatal  place  for  captive  princes,  and  that 
were  he  to  be  sent  to  that  gloomy  abode,  he 
would  be  separated  from  his  brother  and  sister, 
whom  lie  loved  so  tenderly. 

The  idea  of  solitary  confinement  is  very 
terrible  to  youthful  minds;  and  the  fate  of 
the  young  King  Edward,  and  his  brother 
Richard  Duke  of  York,  who  had  been  so  bar- 
barously murdered  in  the  tower,  recurred  forc- 
ibly to  the  mind  of  the  royal  captive,  when 
threatened  with  imprisonment  by  men  who 
had  not  scrupled  to  bring  the  king  his  father 
to  the  block.  He  therefore,  but  with  great 
reluctance,  gave  the  required  promise. 

However  unwilling  Prince  James  was  to 
pledge  his  word  to  this  effect,  once  having 
done   so,   no  consideration   could  induce  him 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  25 

to  break  his  promise,  or  even  to  evade  it.  A 
proof  of  this  occured  shortly  afterwards,  when 
an  officer  of  the  palace  offered  him  a  letter  in 
so  secret  a  manner  that  he  might  have  taken 
it  without  the  slightest  fear  of  being  detected, 
but  he  refused  to  receive  it,  saying  that  it  was 
contrary  to  the  assurance  he  had  so  solemnly 
given  the  council. 

The  officer,  supposing  the  young  prince 
suspected  his  faith,  and  that  it  was  only  a 
stratagem  intended  to  betray  him,  said  softly 
in  his  ear,  "  Do  not  fear  to  receive  this  letter,  it 
comes  from  the  queen  your  mother,  and  con- 
tains many  things  of  great  importance,  and  that 
are  of  consequence  to  you.  Depend  on  my 
fidelity  in  this  matter."  "No!"  said  the 
prince  firmly,  "  I  will  not  break  my  word,  even 
to  purchase  the  pleasure  of  reading  a  letter 
from  my  absent  parent,  who  is  dearer  to  me 
than  any  one  else  in  the  world;"  thus  giving 
an  example  of  strict  probity  by  a  sacrifice  as 
painful  to  his  feelings,  of  duty  and  filial 
affection,  as  it  was  honourable  to  his  char- 
acter as  an  observer  of  a  promise,  though  re- 
luctantly extorted   from   him  by  his   enemies. 


26  THE    JUVENILE 


THE 


SABBATH  BELL. 

I  hear  the  peaceful  sabbath  bell 
Amidst  the  hills  and  valleys  swell. 
I  hear  its  tuneful  echoes  blest 
Proclaim  the  sacred  day  of  rest. 
Hark !  sweetly  to  the  house  of  prayer 
Its  music  bids  our  steps  repair, 
In  God's  own  holy  courts  to  raise 
A  general  voice  of  grateful  praise 
For  all  his  gracious  mercies  past 
Since  there  we  met  together  last. 
O  heavenly  sound  of  love  and  peace 
Which  bids  all  earthly  labours  cease, 
And  rich  and  poor  in  union  seek 
A  blessing  on  the  coming  week  I 
And  shall  I  then  neglect  the  call 
Address'd  alike  to  great  and  small, 
To  young  and  old,  and  high  and  low, 
And  all  those  promises  forego, 
Which  God  has  given  to  all  who  pay 
Due  reverence  to  the  sabbath  day ; 
Since  first  we  in  the  holy  writ 
Have  read,  He  bless'd  and  hallow'd  it  ? 


FORGET  ME  NOT.  27 

HOW  DO  YOU  SPEND  YOUR 
ALLOWANCE  1 


"How  do  you  spend  your  allowance]" 
asked  Harriet  Mason  of  a  young  lady  who  sat 
next  her  at  a  small  working  party  of  young 
friends  who  had  met  to  pass  a  sociable  after- 
noon together  last  Christmas  holidays. 

"  I  will  not  tell  you,"  replied  Catherine 
Grey,  "  unless  every  young  lady  present  con- 
sents to  answer  the  same  question." 

"  Agreed,"  said  they  all.  "  It  will  furnish 
us  with  conversation  and  amusement  for  the 
whole  evening.     But  who  is  to  begin  first]" 

"  Oh,  you,  Miss  Bradshaw,"  said  one  of 
the  young  ladies,  "  for  you  are  the  eldest,  and 
your  papa  is  the  richest  man  in  the  village,  and 
allows  you  such  a  very  handsome  sum  for 
pocket  money." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Miss  Bradshaw,  "  I  never 
find  my  allowance  sufficient  for  my  wants  ;  and 
as  to  giving  an  account  bf  the  manner  in 
which  I  spend  it,  I  believe  that  would  be  a 
difficult  matter,  for  I  hardly  know  myself; 
but  I  suppose  it  goes  in  ribbons,  and  gloves. 


28  THE    JUVENILE 

and  beads,  and  a  hundred  other  trifles  not  worth 
enumerating." 

"  Now  I  spend  my  money  very  differently," 
said  Ellen  Woods,  "  for  I  took  a  fancy  some 
time  ago  to  buy  a  beautiful  green  parrot  and 
a  gilt  cage,  and  mamma  told  me  that  if  I 
persisted  in  purchasing  so  useless  a  creature, 
I  should  buy  all  the  food  it  consumed  out  of 
my  allowance;  and,  indeed,  my  Poll  has  so 
voracious  an  appetite,  that  she  never  leaves 
me  any  pocket  money  to  expend  in  trifles  for 
myself." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  employ  my  allowance 
in  so  unprofitable  a  manner."  said  Helen  Ross ; 
"  I  lay  by  my  money  to  purchase  books,  and 
I  have  at  this  time  a  handsome  case  filled 
with  neatly  bound  volumes  of  my  favourite 
authors ;  and  I  assure  you  I  get  many  com- 
mendations from  my  parents  and  friends  on 
this  account." 

"And  I,"  said  Miss  Martin,  "save  my 
money  to  purchase  ornaments.  This  coral 
necklace  and  bracelets  I  bought  out  of  my  last 
year's  savings.  Pray,  Miss  Gibbs,  how  do  you 
employ  yours  ?  doubtless,  very  sensibly." 

"  There,"  said  Miss  Gibbs,  "  I  assure  you  you 
are  quite  mistaken;  for  I  can  never  pass  by  a 
confectioner's  shop  without  going  in,  so  I  leave 
you  to  guess  what  becomes  of  my  money.  Now, 
Harriet  Mason,  your  turn  comes  next  to  confess 
your  spendings." 

"  My  spendings,"   replied   Harriet  Mason, 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  29 

16  are  very  few;  I  seldom  lay  out  my  money 
in  trifles,  as  I  like  always  to  have  a  little  sum  at 
my  own  disposal.  I  suppose,  young  ladies,  you 
have  heard  that  '  Farthings  oft  heaped  amount 
to  pounds  in  time.'  Therefore  you  will  easily 
credit  my  assertion  when  I  declare  that  I  have 
five  pounds  now  in  my  possession  which  I  have 
saved  from  my  weekly  allowance.  Now,  Ca- 
therine, I  claim  your  promise,  for  I  never  could 
discover  in  what  manner  you  dispose  of  your 
money." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Grey,  it  is  your  turn  to  satisfy 
our  curiosity,"  said  all  the  young  ladies  eagerly. 
"  Come  with  me  then,  and  I  will  show  you," 
said  Catherine,  blushing  as  she  spoke. 

The  little  party,  at  these  words,  rose;  and, 
putting  on  their  bonnets  and  shawls,  followed 
Catherine,  who  conducted  them  to  a  miserable 
hut  in  the  neighbourhood,  where  they  beheld 
a  family  of  six  young  children  surrounding  a 
pale  sickly  looking  mother,  who  held  twin 
infants  on  her  knees.  The  elder  six  were 
making  a  scanty  dinner  on  coarse  bread  and 
potatoes,  while  their  father,  stretched  on  the 
bed  of  disease,  was  a  sad  spectator  of  the  hard- 
ships endured  by  his  wife  and  wretched  chil- 
dren. ^ 

"  There,  my  young  friends,"  said  Catherine, 
pointing  to  the  sad  spectacle  before  them,  "  when 
I  daily  behold  such  scenes  of  distress  in  this  po- 
pulous manufacturing  district,  how  is  it  possible 
for  me  to  save  my  allowance,  or  expend  it  on 
unnecessary  trifles  1" 

D 


30  THE    JUVENILE 

The  young  ladies  were  conscience-stricken, 
and  wondered  that  they  too  had  never  thought 
of  devoting  any  part  of  their  pocket  money  to 
the  relief  of  their  distressed  fellow  creatures. 
The  result  of  this  feeling  was,  that  a  small  sub- 
scription was  immediately  raised  among  them, 
and  bestowed  on  this  distressed  family. 

Miss  Mason  had  it  in  her  power  to  give  the 
largest  sum,  and  indeed  she  displayed  a  munifi- 
cent spirit  on  the  occasion ;  but,  doubtless,  the 
weekly  shilling  which  the  meek  and  compas- 
sionate Catherine  privately  applied  to  the  relief 
of  the  obscure  and  destitute  objects  of  her  charity, 
was,  like  the  widow's  mite,  more  acceptable  in 
the  sight  of  God  than  all  the  gifts  which  ostenta- 
tion or  shame  drew  from  the  purses  of  her  more 
opulent  but  selfish  companions. 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  31 


THE 


EVENING    PRIMROSE. 


Lovely  blossom,  meek  and  fair, 
Child  of  placid  evening  air, 
Sweeter  in  thy  twilight  bower 
Than  the  brightest  noonday  flower. 

When  the  dazzling  sun  is  nigh, 
Thou  dost  droop,  and  withering  die, 
For  thou  canst  not  bear  to  be 
Gazed  upon  so  ardently. 

But  the  moon's  chaste  silvery  beam 
On  thy  modest  flowers  may  stream, 
And  thy  hues  become  more  bright 
Hourly  in  her  peaceful  light. 

Floweret,  thus  should  beauty  be 
Meek,  retiring,  like  to  thee, 
In  her  graceful  mild  retreat 
Growing  every  hour  more  sweet. 

Thus  to  shrink  from  public  gaze, 
Thus  to  shun  the  voice  of  praise, 
And  from  folly's  train  apart, 
Charming  every  eye  and  heart. 


32  THE   JUVENILE 


MEMOIRS 


OF 


THE  YOUNG  DUKE  OF  BURGUNDY. 


Louis  Duke  of  Burgundy  (eldest  brother  of 
Louis  the  Sixteenth  of  France)  died  when  only 
nine  years  of  age ;  but,  short  as  his  life  was,  it 
afforded  so  beautiful  an  example  of  early  virtue 
and  true  piety,  that  I  am  tempted  to  transcribe 
a  few  anecdotes  of  him,  which  will,  I  doubt  not, 
prove  equally  interesting  and  useful  to  my  young 
readers. 

Louis  had  been  told  that  the  most  danger- 
ous enemies  princes  could  have  were  flatterers, 
and  when  some  one  bestowed  on  him  praises 
which  he  felt  convinced  were  unmerited  on  his 
part,  he  replied,  "  Sir,  I  perceive  you  flatter 
me ;  did  you  really  love  me,  you  would  tell  me 
the  truth."  That  night,  when  he  retired  to  his 
own  apartment,  he  said  to  his  governor,  "  I  must 
beware  of  that  gentleman,  for  he  is  a  flatterer." 

The   surest  method  of  gaining  his   esteem 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  33 

was  to  tell  him  of  his  faults.  As  a  proof  of 
this,  when  asked  which  of  his  three  pages  he 
loved  the  best,  he  replied,  "  Him  who  in  my 
earliest  years  always  pointed  out  my  errors,  that 
I  might  amend  them." 

A  young  nobleman  once  told  him  that  he 
had  no  faults,  and  therefore  needed  neither 
advice  nor  punishment ;  but  the  prince,  instead 
of  listening  to  this  gross  flattery  with  pleasure, 
was  so  much  disgusted  by  it  that  he  entirely 
withdrew  himself  from  the  society  of  that  youth, 
and  avoided  all  future  conversation  with  him ; 
who,  perceiving  himself  to  be  slighted  by  the 
young  prince,  soon  after  left  the  court,  and  pass- 
ed some  time  in  travelling  and  study.  He  re- 
turned at  length  to  the  court  an  altered  charac- 
ter, and  was  as  remarkable  for  his  sincerity  and 
plain  manner  of  speaking  as  he  had  before  been 
for  his  flattery.  When  Louis  perceived  this 
change,  he  offered  him  his  friendship,  saying, 
"I  love  you  now,  because  you  have*  discarded 
that  pernicious  habit  of  flattering,  and  have  the 
courage  to  tell  the  truth." 

This  young  prince  was  so  amiable  in  his  dis- 
position, that  no  expression  of  offensive  raillery 
or  contempt  ever  escaped  his  lips  at  any  time. 
Bodily  defects  always  excited  in  him  feelings  of 
the  tenderest  sympathy  and  compassion:  his 
delicacy  of  behaviour  deserves  to  be  recorded  on 
this  subject.  The  conversation  one  day  chanced 
to  turn  on  deformity,  when  a  person  so  afflicted 
was  present.  The  prince  gave  several  hints  to 
D2 


34?  THE    JUVENILE 

the  speaker  to  change  the  discourse ;  but,  find- 
ing the  signs  he  made  to  him  to  drop  the  subject 
were  not  noticed,  he  approached  him,  and  said 
very  softly,  "  Are  not  you  afraid  of  wounding 
the  feelings  of  that  gentleman?" 

His  compassion  for  the  sufferings  of  the  poor 
must  not  be  forgotten.  The  first  time  he  was 
presented  by  the  king  with  a  purse  containing 
the  sum  of  money  allowed  him  for  pleasure,  he 
immediately  laid  aside  one  half  of  it  to  be  em- 
ployed in  charitable  purposes ;  but  his  generosity 
was  always  regulated  by  a  strict  love  of  order 
and  economy.  He  was  aware  that,  in  the  ex- 
ercise of  true  benevolence,  it  is  not  alone  suffi- 
cient to  give,  but  also  to  select  proper  objects  for 
charity ;  neither  did  he  ever  permit  any  personal 
gratification  of  his  own  to  interfere  with  his  duty. 
He  would  never  suffer  himself,  however  tempted 
he  might  be,  to  appropriate  a  single  penny  of 
the  little  fund  which  he  was  accustomed  to  lay 
by  for  the  use  of  the  poor  and  destitute.  The 
young  prince  once  ardently  desired  to  possess  a 
small  train  of  artillery  for  his  diversion.  His 
governor  did  not  oppose  his  wishes,  but  casually 
remarked,  in  his  hearing,  "  How  many  distress- 
ed objects  arc  there  who  require  relief  at  this 
time !" 

Louis  immediately  bestowed  in  alms  the  mo- 
ney he  had  designed  for  the  purchase  of  the 
artillery. 

Monsieur  Tourolle,  his  head  valet  de  cham- 
bre,  told  him  one  day  that  a  village,  a  few  miles 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  £*> 

from  Paris,  had  been  destroyed  by  fire.  "  I  can- 
not do  all  I  would,  my  friend,"  exclaimed  the 
generous  Louis,  "  but  I  must  endeavour  to  do 
all  I  can  to  aid  these  poor  villagers."  That 
very  evening  the  dauphin  and  dauphiness,  his 
royal  parents,  with  the  princesses,  his  aunts, 
came  to  visit  him  ;  and  he  embraced  that  oppor- 
tunity of  soliciting  the  assistance  of  his  family 
for  the  sufferers,  and  obtained  from  each  mem- 
ber a  sum  for  their  relief,  to  which  he  added, 
without  reserve,  the  whole  of  his  own  allowance: 
by  this  means  laying  by  for  himself  "  treasures 
in  heaven,  where  neither  moth  doth  corrupt,  nor 
thieves  break  through  and  steal." 

At  the  age  of  seven  years  it  was  customary 
for  the  princes  of  France  to  be  placed  under  the 
care  of  a  governor.  When  the  Duke  cle  Berri 
had  attained  that  age,  Louis  (who  was  his  elder 
brother,)  anxious  for  the  improvement  of  his 
character,  proposed  the  same  plan  which  had 
been  practised  with  regard  to  his  own  education. 
This  plan  was  as  follows  ; — 

Every  eighth  day  an  exact  account  was  written 
down  of  his  conduct  in  the  preceding  week; 
and  at  the  end  of  the  month  the  record  was  ex- 
amined, and  every  fault  which  he  had  amended 
was  noted  down,  and  a  mark  placed  against 
those  that  remained  uncorrected.  The  young 
prince  had  preserved  these  little  memorials  of 
his  past  life  with  great  care,  and  now  said  to  his 
brother  the  Duke  de  Berri,  "  I  think,  my  bro- 
ther, it  will  be  of  service  to  you  to  see  how  plain- 


36 


THE    JUVENILE 


ly  my  friends  have  dealt  with  my  faults."  Then, 
putting  the  papers  into  the  hands  of  his  under 
governor,  he  said,  "  Monsieur  de  Sineti,  read 
aloud  without  reserve." 

During  the  reading,  it  was  observed  that 
whenever  certain  passages  were  read,  the  Duke 
of  Burgundy  blushed,  and  evinced  some  symp- 
toms of  uneasiness ;  his  governor,  pitying  his 
confusion,  offered  to  leave  off  reading:  "  No," 
said  he  firmly,  "  I  wish  you  to  read  every  thing ; 
but  I  think  I  may  venture  to  say  that  I  have 
amended  that  fault." 

When  Louis  was  told  the  marks  of  affection 
which  the  people  of  France  had  testified  for  his 
grandfather  Louis  the  Fifteenth  during  a  dan- 
gerous fit  of  illness ;  on  which  occasion  that 
monarch  had  received  from  his  subjects  the  name 
of  Louis  the  "Well-Beloved,  he  exclaimed : 
M  How  sensibly  touched  ought  the  king  to  be 
with  such  proofs  of  his  people's  attachment !  I 
would  willingly  purchase  such  a  pleasure,  even 
at  the  expense  of  suffering  from  the  same  ma- 
lady." 

Shortly  after  this  the  health  of  the  young 
prince  began  to  decline,  and  serious  apprehen- 
sions were  entertained  for  his  life,  insomuch  that 
he  was  obliged  to  submit  to  a  severe  surgical 
operation  being  performed,  which  he  bore  with 
the  most  unshrinking  fortitude. 

A  few  days  afterwards  he  wrote  thus  to  the 
dauphin  his  father:  "  I  entreat  you  to  permit  me 
to  continue  my  studies  ;  I  am  fearful  of  forget- 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  37 

img  the  knowledge  I  have  acquired,  and  am  veiy 
desirous  of  further  improvement." 

Notwithstanding  the  skill  of  his  physicians, 
he  grew  worse  from  day  to  day ;  but  his  patience 
and  resignation  increased  with  his  sufferings,  in 
the  course  of  which  he  did  not  allow  a  murmur 
to  escape  him  ;  and  during  his  long  and  painful 
illness  he  behaved  with  the  utmost  mildness  and 
sweetness  to  those  around  him,  never  addressing 
a  hasty  or  unkind  word  to  any  of  his  attendants, 
but  was  always  anxious  lest  the  health  of  his 
servants  should  be  injured  by  their  close  attend- 
ance on  him.  He  was  greatly  concerned  when 
his  restlessness  prevented  others  from  sleeping ; 
and  if  he  wanted  any  thing  during  the  night,  he 
always  asked  for  it  veiy  softly,  that  he  might  not 
disturb  all  the  persons  who  slept  in  his  chamber. 
"  My  poor  Tourolle,"  said  he  one  day  to  that 
faithful  servant,  "  you  will  kill  yourself  by  such 
unremitting  attendance  on  me  ;  go  and  take  the 
air,  I  shall  not  need  your  services  for  some  time." 

Another  of  his  attendants  was  afflicted  with 
acute  rheumatism :  on  which  the  prince  observ- 
ed to  his  governor  the  Due  de  la  Vauguyon,  "  I 
beg  you  will  not  permit  Benevant  to  sit  up  with 
me;  loss  of  rest  will  aggravate  his  complaint: 
and  let  me  entreat  you  and  Tourolle  to  take  a 
little  repose." 

When  informed  that  his  last  hour  drew  nigh, 
he  received  the  intelligence  with  perfect  resigna- 
tion; being  persuaded  that  the  pleasures  and 
grandeur  which  he  might  have  enjoyed  in  this 


38  THE    JUVENILE 

life  were  not  worthy  to  be  compared  with  those 
unspeakable  joys  which  God  has  prepared,  in  a 
future  state,  for  those  who  love  him ;  who  has 
also  assured  us,  by  the  words  of  his  holy  pro- 
phet, that  "  Blessed  are  the  dead  which  die  in 
the  Lord,  for  they  rest  from  their  labours,  and 
their  works  do  follow  themu" 


FORGET    ME    NOT  39 


LINES 


ON 


THE  DEATH  OF  AN  INFANT. 


Sleep  on,  lovely  infant,  how  calm  is  thy  rest 

In  happy  oblivion  below; 
Already  enjoying  the  lot  of  the  blest, 

Secure  from  all  trouble  and  wo. 

Oh !  early  the  floweret  was  broken  and  crush'd, 
And  snapp'd  from  the  sorrowing  stem  ; 

Ere   the  opening  leaves  of  the   rosebud    had 
blush'd, 
It  was  moisten'd  by  sympathy's  gem. 

But  mourn  not  the  fall  of  this  perishing  flower, 

Oh,  turn  not  in  anguish  away ; 
For  Heaven,  in  mercy  and  fulness  of  power, 

Has  granted  it  glory's  pure  ray, 


40  THE     JUVENILE. 


ST.  JOHN 


THE  FALLEN  PROSELYTE. 


Let  us  beware  of  the  first  fault  we  commit. 
We  do  not  become  wicked  ail  at  once,  but 
are  led  on  by  slow  degrees  into  the  commis- 
sion of  great  crimes.  We  first  omit  some 
trifling  duty;  we  then  commit  some  trifling 
fault:  we  flatter  ourselves  that  it  is  but  for 
once  we  have  transgressed,  and  there  is  yet  time 
for  amendment,  but  we  neglect  that  time,  and  put 
off  reformation  till  more  duties  have  been  for- 
gotten, more  faults  committed ;  it  then  becomes 
a  burden  to  our  consciences  to  remember  these 
things,  and  we  dismiss  them  as  much  as  pos- 
sible from  our  thoughts.  From  little  faults  we 
go  on  to  greater  ones ;  and  in  the  end  stray 
so  deeply  into  the  thorny  path  of  error,  that 
we  fear  to  look  back ;  and,  deeming  all  return 
impossible,  blindly  follow  the  broad  way  which 
in  the  end  leadeth  to  destruction.  But  let  us 
not  despair ;  it  is  never  too  late  to  repent,  and 
forsake   our  sins.     "  Let  the  wicked   forsake 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  41 

his  way,  and  the  unrighteous  man  his  thoughts, 
and  turn  unto  the  Lord  his  God,  and  he  will 
have  mercy,  and  unto  his  God,  and  he  will 
abundantly  pardon."  Listen  to  the  story  of 
the  holy  apostle  St.  John  and  the  Youth  of 
Ephesus. 

After  the  death  of  the  Roman  Emperor 
Domitian,  St.  John,  the  beloved  disciple  of 
our  Lord,  was  recalled  from  the  island  of  Pat- 
mos,  to  which  place  he  had  been  banished  by 
command  of  that  tyrant.* 

The  apostle  then  came  to  Ephesus,  a  city 
in  Asia,  where  he  passed  some  time  in  regu- 
lating the  affairs  of  the  churches  there  esta- 
blished by  St.  Paul;  in  constituting  bishops, 
and  electing  into  the  clergy  such  men  as  were 
willing  to  devote  themselves  to  the  service  and 
ministry  of  Christ's  church. 

Among  the  Christian  converts  who  daily 
attended  to  hear  the  word  of  God,  there  was 
a  widow  who  had  a  young  son,  a  youth  of 
most  prepossessing  countenance  and  great  pro- 
mise ;  and  she,  entering  the  church  where  the 
apostle  then  was,  besought  him  to  give  her  child 

*  During  the  reign  of  the  Emperor  Domitian,  the 
Christian  church  underwent  a  fierce  persecution ;  many 
good  men  being  cruelly  put  lo  death,  or  deprived  of 
their  goods  and  lands,  and  banished  to  distant  places 
on  account  of  their  belief  in  the  Lord  Jesus.  Accord- 
ing to  the  accounts  of  the  earliest  Christian  writers, 
St.  John  the  Divine  was  exiled,  with  many  others,  to 
the  island  of  Patnios  ;  but  after  the  death  of  Domitian^ 
he  returned  from  banishment,  and  went  to  Ephesus. 

E 


42  THE    JUVENILE 

baptism,  saying,  "  He  is  mine  only  son,  the 
child  of  mine  old  age.  Behold,  now  1  am 
infirm,  and  drawing  near  to  my  latter  days. 
Let  my  aged  eyes,  therefore,  see  my  son  re- 
ceived into  the  flock  of  Christ,  as  a  member 
of  his  church ;  so  may  I  be  able  to  say,  in  the 
words  of  holy  Simeon,  '  Lord,  now  lettest  thou 
thy  servant  depart  in  peace.' "  Then  the 
apostle  called  for  water,  and  baptized  the  young 
Demetrius,  and  would  have  given  him  back 
to  the  care  of  his  mother ;  but  she,  with  much 
earnestness,  entreated  St.  John  to  let  the  youth 
continue  with  him,  that  he  might  be  instructed 
in  all  goodness.  Then  Demetrius  continued 
to  abide  with  St.  John,  who  loved  the  youth 
greatly ;  and,  finding  him  of  an  ardent  dis- 
position, took  great  pains  in  teaching  him  the 
way  in  which  he  shoidd  walk ;  and  when  the 
time  came  in  which  it  was  necessary  that  he 
should  depart  that  city,  St.  John  presented 
Demetrius  to  the  bishop  whom  he  had  lately 
ordained,  and  said,  "  This  youth  do  I  com- 
mit to  thy  especial  care  ;  see  thou  that  he  swerve 
not  from  the  right  way,  but  continue  a  faithful 
and  worthy  member  of  the  church  of  Christ." 
The  mshop  promised  obedience,  and  St.  John 
departed. 

For  some  time  Demetrius  continued  to  per- 
severe in  the  life  of  virtue  and  goodness 
which  had  been  recommended  to  him  by  his 
beloved  master ;  but  youth  is  by  nature  prone 
to  error ;  and  he,  by  degrees,  relaxing  some- 


FORGET    ME,  NOT.  43 

what  of  his  care  over  himself,  suffered  light 
and  vain  thoughts  to  take  possession  of  his 
mind  and  influence  his  conduct. 

It  chanced,  one  beautiful  evening,  as  De- 
metrius was  returning  from  his  accustomed 
meditation  in  the  fields,  just  without  the  sub- 
urbs, his  attention  was  excited  by  a  gay  pro- 
cession of  youths  and  maidens  crowned  with 
chaplets  of  flowers,  and  bearing  baskets  of 
roses  in  their  hands,  going  to  assist  in  the  cele- 
bration of  certain  games,  as  was  the  yearly 
custom  of  that  city. 

Pleased  with  the  festival  that  had  been  one 
of  the  delights  of  his  early  youth  before  the 
powerful  words  of  St.  John  had  induced  his 
mother  to  abjure  idolatry,  Demetrius  stayed 
his  steps  to  observe  them ;  and  they,  filled 
with  admiration  at  his  fair  countenance  and 
comely  presence,  besought  him  to  bear  them 
company.  Demetrius  at  first  withstood  their 
entreaties,  and  would  have  passed  on ;  but  one 
among  them,  approaching  the  spot  where  he  yet 
stood,  flung  about  him  a  robe  of  Tyrian  purple, 
and  placed  round  his  brows  a  chaplet  of  flowers, 
crying  out  in  praise  of  his  beauty  and  graceful 
mien.  Pleased  yet  half  ashamed,  Demetrius 
listened  to  the  flattering  applauses  of  the  crowd  ; 
till,  yielding  in  an  evil  hour  to  temptation,  he 
consented  to  make  one  in  the  procession. 

From  this  time  his  love  of  admiration  in- 
creased, and  vanity  often  induced  him  to  join 
in  the  scenes  of  gayety  and  pleasure  to  which 


44  THE    JUVENILE 

he  was  enticed  by  his  new  associates;  nor 
can  it  be  a  matter  of  surprise  if,  in  the  festive 
revels  or  the  sumptuous  banquet,  he  forgot 
those  precepts  of  temperance  and  morality 
which  he  had  learned  from  his  master  the 
holy  apostle  St.  John. 

Taught  by  his  companions  to  despise  the 
simple  garb  he  had  been  wont  to  wear,  he 
exchanged  it  for  one  of  more  costly  materials, 
as  better  befitted  to  his  new  mode  of  life, 
Demetrius  no  longer  felt  that  relish  for  reli- 
gion, and  that  love  for  virtue,  which  had  once 
occupied  all  his  thoughts;  so  true  it  is  that 
we  cannot  serve  two  masters,  we  cannot  love 
God  and  the  world.  In  the  pursuit  of  plea- 
sure, Demetrius  neglected  his  duties ;  he  ceased 
to  hallow  the  sabbaths,  or  to  offer  up  his  pray- 
ers in  private  with  that  zeal  and  devotion  which 
had  formerly  inspired  him  in  his  days  of  inno- 
cence and  purity,  and  soon  they  were  altogether 
neglected  and  forgotten. 

In  the  hours  of  mirth  and  revelry  the  mis- 
guided youth,  intoxicated  with  wine,  and  en- 
couraged by  the  example  of  his  companions, 
joined  them  in  pouring  forth  libations  to  the 
honour  of  the  heathen  deities,  and  singing  cho- 
ruses composed  in  their  praise ;  adding  to  his 
other  sins  that  great  and  forbidden  one  of  bow- 
ing down  to  idols.  Thus  was  the  wretched 
Demetrius  led  on  step  by  step  in  the  path  of 
error,  till  he  became  so  deeply  entangled  in 
guilt  that,  despairing  of  ever  being  able  to  re-* 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  45 

.gain  that  fair  character  for  virtue  for  which  he 
had  once  been  so  highly  distinguished,  he  rush- 
ed headlong  on,  stifling  in  his  breast  the  still 
small  voice  of  conscience,  which  from  time  to 
time  warned  him  of  the  error  of  his  ways.  So 
often  had  he  disregarded  the  inward  monitress, 
that  now  she  spoke  no  more;  or,  if  she  did,  it 
was  but  to  drive  him  to  a  greater  degree  of  de- 
spair. She  told  of  time  mispent,  of  blighted 
hopes,  of  past  happiness  never  to  return,  of 
present  misery,  and  future  agony.  Such  was 
the  tale  she  told ! 

Pressed  at  length  for  the  payment  of  a  debt 
which  he  had  incurred,  and  unable  to  satisfy 
his  importunate  creditor,  the  unfortunate  youth 
in  a  moment  of  desperation  consented  to  join 
his  associates  in  an  act  of  unlawful  plunder, 
in  the  commission  of  which  he  was  taken  pri- 
soner. Disdaining  to  suffer  the  penalty  due  to 
his  crime,  he  contrived  to  elude  the  vigilance  of 
his  gaoler,  and  escape  from  the  prison ;  then 
joining  his  accomplices,  he  withdrew  into  the 
woods  and  desert  wilds,  where  he  became  the 
leader  of  a  band  of  fierce  and  lawless  robbers, 
who  by  their  cruelty  and  depredations  spread 
terror  and  dismay  through  all  the  neighbouring 
towns  and  villages. 

Few  of  those  who  had  formerly  beheld  him 
could  now  have  recognised  in  the  fierce  and 
guilty  countenance  of  the  robber  chief  the  once 
beautiful  and  pure  Demetrius.  The  light  of 
virtue  and  truth,  which  had  been  wont  to  irradi- 
E  2 


46  THE    JUVENILE 

ate  those  noble  features,  had  given  place  to  an 
expression  of  rage  and  despair  terrible  to  look 
upon.  Such  was  the  change  which  years  of 
crime  had  wrought  in  him  whom  we  formerly 
beheld  as  the  beloved  disciple  of  the  holy  apos- 
tle St.  John. 

It  happened,  some  years  after  these  things 
had  taken  place,  that  St.  John  returned  again 
to  Ephesus,  to  reform  some  abuses  which  had 
crept  into  the  church  during  his  absence.  Hav- 
ing arranged  these  matters  to  his  satisfaction 
he  turned  to  the  bishop,  saying,  "Restore  to 
me,  O  bishop,  that  treasure  which  was  commit- 
ted to  thy  charge  some  time  since." 

The  bishop,  unable  to  comprehend  the  true 
meaning  of  these  words,  was  greatly  troubled  in 
his  mind,  thinking  he  had  been  falsely  accused 
by  some  one  of  wasting  the  revenues  of  the 
church,  or  appropriating  the  goods  thereof  to 
his  own  private  advantage. 

Then  the  venerable  apostle,  seeing  that  the 
bishop  Was  sorely  perplexed,  said,  "  I  demand 
of  thee  that  which  I  committed  to  thy  care ; 
even  the  soul  of  young  Demetrius!  How  is 
the  young  man  our  son!" 

At  these  words  the  bishop,  with  a  counte- 
nance full  of  sorrow,  replied,  "  Demetrius  is 
dead!"  then  perceiving  the  spirit  of  John  to 
be  greatly  troubled,  he  added,  u  He  is  indeed 
dead  in  trespasses  and  sins,  and  is  no  more 
worthy  to  be  called  thy  son,  he  having  be- 
come the  captain  of  a  band  of  robbers."     At 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  47 

these  words  the  apostle  rent  his  clothes,  and 
smiting  his  breast  in  heaviness  of  spirit,  said, 
"  I  fear  me  I  left  but  a  careless  shepherd  over 
the  flock  of  my  Lord  and  Master ;  since  thou 
hast  permitted  the  wolf  to  enter  into  the  fold, 
and  take  from  thence  the  fairest  of  the  flock. 
But  I  will  go  to  him,  and  will  yet,  with  God's 
help,  bring  back  the  wanderer."  So  saying, 
he  departed. 

Alone  and  unarmed,  save  by  the  staff  on 
which  he  leaned  to  aid  his  declining  steps,  bent 
with  years  surpassing  those  usually  allotted  to 
the  life  of  man,  the  holy  Evangelist  entered 
upon  the  wild  haunts  of  the  young  robber  chief 
and  his  lawless  band.  He  hears,  as  he  pro- 
ceeds, the  sound  of  approaching  steps,  and 
beholds  the  forms  of  armed  men  advancing 
towards  him.  Inspired  by  a  divine  courage, 
and  intent  on  his  mission,  the  apostle  pressed 
forwards  and  presented  himself  before  Deme- 
trius and  his  band  of  armed  men. 

How  shall  we  find  words  to  tell  the  feelings  of 
shame,  of  anguish,  and  remorse  that  assailed  the 
heart  of  the  robber  chief  as  the  saintly  form  of 
his  once  loved  and  still  revered  master  met  his 
view.  The  eye  of  the  robber  chief  sunk  abashed 
beneath  the  glance  of  sad  reproof  with  which  the 
apostle  regarded  him.  Fain  would  he  have  con- 
cealed himself  from  the  presence  of  that  venera- 
ble being  whose  years  seemed  as  though  they 
had  been  prolonged  in  order  to  call  his  guilt  to 
remembrance.     Demetrius  could  not  endure  that 


48  THE   JUVENILE 

the  master  who  had  beheld  him  only  in  his  days  - 
of  happiness,  when  he  was  yet  pure  and  un- 
stained by  crime,  should  look  upon  him  in  his 
now  degraded  state;  and,  overwhelmed  with 
grief  and  shame,  he  turned  to  fly  from  him, 
but  the  deep  sweet  tones  of  that  voice  which 
he  had  been  wont  to  obey,  and  which  had  never 
spoken  in  vain,  now  recalled  him :  "  Turn  thee, 
my  son,  wherefore  dost  thou  fear  me?  behold*' 
I  am  aged  and  defenceless !  He  that  died  for 
thee  upon  the  cross  now  calls  unto  thee  by  me ; 
therefore  turn  thee  yet  while  there  is  time  given 
to  thee,  and  repent,  and  call  upon  the  Lord  thy 
God;  for  He  is  gracious  and  merciful,  slow  to 
anger,  and  of  great  kindness,  and  repenteth  him 
of  the  evil.  Fear  not,  there  is  yet  salvation  for 
thee;  forsake  the  evil  of  thy  way,  and  thou 
shalt  find  rest  unto  thy  soul,  for  great  is  his 
mercy  unto  those  that  call  upon  him." 

The  appeal  was  not  heard  in  vain.  Hum- 
bled in  spirit,  and  filled  with  a  deep  sense  of 
his  own  unworthiness,  the  repentant  sinner  pros- 
trated himself  at  the  feet  of  the  apostle ;  and, 
burying  his  face  in  the  folds  of  his  garments, 
murmured  out,  "  Father,  receive  your  child 
again!  I  have  deeply  sinned  before  God,  and 
in  thy  sight;  intercede  for  me  at  the  throne 
of  grace;  and  may  God  be  merciful  to  me  a 
sinner !" 

Kneeling  on  the  ground  beside  the  prostrate 
penitent,  the  holy  apostle,  with  fervent  zeal, 
prayed  For  pardon  and  remission  of  his  sins. 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  4S 

"  God,  my  son,"  said  he  at  length,  "  accepts 
thy  tears,  and  listens  to  thy  prayers.  Thy  Re- 
deemer receives  thee  once  more  into  his  church, 
baptized  a  second  time  in  tears.  Thy  sins  are 
forgiven  thee ;  go,  and  sin  no  more."  As  he 
pronounced  these  words,  he  raised  his  repentant 
proselyte  from  the  earth,  pouring  into  his  wound- 
ed soul  the  balm  of  holy  consolation,  and 
strengthening  him  with  the  promise  of  our 
Blessed  Lord,  "  That  there  is  indeed  joy  in 
heaven  with  the  angels  of  God  over  the  sinner 
that  repenteth."* 

*  The  facts  of  this  story  are  drawn  from  a  relation  eon- 
tained  in  Book  HI.  chap.  xii.  of  Eusebius  Pampbylus's 
Ecclesiastical  History. 


50:  THE    JUVENILE 


DESCRIPTION 


THE  GROTTO  OF  ANTIPAROS. 


MY   DEAR    SISTER, 

You  may  remember  that,  on  my  parting  from 
you,  I  promised  to  give  you  an  account  of  every 
object  worthy  of  attention  which  I  might  meet 
with  during  my  travels  with  our  dear  father,  for 
whose  kindness  in  permitting  me  to  be  the  com- 
panion of  his  voyage  to  Zante,  and  up  the  Le- 
vant, I  can  never  be  sufficiently  grateful.  Last 
week  he  gratified  me  by  a  sight  of  that  most 
surprising  natural  curiosity,  the  Grotto  of  Anti- 
paros ;  and  as  you,  my  dear  Emma,  have  pro- 
bably never  read  a  description  of  this  beautiful 
place,  I  will  endeavour  to  give  you  some  little 
account  of  its  wonders,  which  will  not,  I  trust, 
prove  wholly  devoid  of  interest  aiid  amusement 
to  you. 

Antiparos,  the  island  in  which  this  celebrated 
grotto  is  situated,  is  in  the  Archipelago,  separat- 
ed from  the  island  of  Fnros  by  a  strait  nearly 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  51 

seven  miles  over.  It  is  about  sixteen  miles  in 
circumference,  and  produces  wine,  cotton,  and 
corn,  besides  several  sorts  of  fruit,  and  is  but 
thinly  inhabited. 

On  this  island,  in  pursuance  of  our  design, 
we  landed,  after  a  delightful  little  voyage.  Hav- 
ing walked  upwards  of  four  miles  through  beau- 
tiful flowery  plains  and  sloping  woodlands,  we 
came  at  length  to  a  little  hill,  on  one  side  of 
which  yawned  a  most  dark  and  dismal  cavern. 
The  first  sight  of  this  horrid  place  gave  me 
some  uneasiness,  especially  when  my  father  de- 
clared his  intention  of  entering  it.  For  a  few 
minutes,  I  declined  accompanying  him;  but 
when  I  saw  him  preparing  to  enter  the  fearful 
abyss,  I  could  not  endure  that  lie  should  alone 
encounter  its  perils ;  therefore  I  resolved  to  fol- 
low him,  and  we  entered  the  mouth  of  the  cave. 
Here  I  was  startled  by  the  appearance  of  a  fi- 
gure of  gigantic  height,  and  I  would  have  re- 
treated, but  my  father  presently  convinced  me 
that  this  figure  was  nothing  more  than  a  sparry 
concretion  caused  by  the  dropping  of  water  from 
the  roof  of  the  cave,  which  had  by  degrees  hard- 
ened into  the  resemblance  of  a  human  form, 
which  the  superstition  of  the  peasantry  had  in 
former  ages  imagined  to  be  a  giant  guarding  the 
entrance  of  his  dwelling. 

As  we  proceeded  further  in  our  researches, 
new  wonders  presented  themselves  on  every 
side.  Whatever  you  have  read  in  the  "  Arabian 
Nights'  Entertainments"  of   the  subterranean 


52  THE   JUVENILE 

i 

groves  of  precious  stones  through  which  Aladdin 
passed  in  search  of  his  wonderful  lamp,  is  here 
realized,  without  exaggerated  description.  Na- 
ture has  formed  the  appearance  of  groves  of 
trees  and  shrubs,  by  means  of  a  variety  of  beau- 
tiful petrifactions  and  crystallizations  of  a  thou- 
sand brilliant  colours  and  fantastic  shapes.  The 
effect  of  this  petrified  grove,  rising  in  solemn 
majesty  in  such  profound  solitude,  is  very  grand; 
and  impresses  one's  mind  with  feelings  of  awe 
and  astonishment.  How  mean  are  the  finest 
productions  of  art,  when  compared  with  those 
wonderful  works  of  the  Creator,  whose  ways 
are  unsearchable  and  past  finding  out:  such 
were  my  reflections  as  I  surveyed  the  scene 
before  me;  but  as  yet  we  had  but  beheld  the 
porticoj  as  it  Were,  of  this  amazing  temple. 
In  a  remote  corner  of  this  sort  of  antichamber 
we  were  shown  a  passage  not  more  than  three 
feet  in  width,  which  seemed  to  terminate  in  total 
darkness. 

Our  guides  having  provided  themselves  with 
torches,  ladders,  and  ropes,  in  order  to  facilitate 
our  descent,  we  ventured  into  the  gloomy  recess 
one  by  one,  till  we  lost  all  sight  of  daylight. 
The  depth  we  had  to  descend  was  prodigious  i 
our  way  appeared  fraught  with  so  much  peril, 
that  I  will  confess  to  you,  my  dear  sister,  for  a 
minute  or  two  my  resolution  again  began  to  wa- 
ver, when  I  beheld  the  ragged  rocks  and  dark 
caverns  on  every  side  threatening  to  ingulf  those 
who  might  have  the  ill  fortune  to  slip  or  make 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  53 

a  false  step  in  the  obscure  and  dangerous  paths 
through  which  we  sometimes  walked  and  some- 
times crept ;  but  my  curiosity  had  been  already 
so  much  excited  by  what  I  had  seen,  that  I  re- 
solved to  proceed,  and,  encouraged  by  my  father, 
I  went  on. 

After  descending  two  frightful  precipices,  we 
passed  through  a  slanting  passage  of  rough  and 
coarse  marble,  full  of  strange  and  uncouth  figures, 
some  resembling  animals,  others  like  snakes 
coiled  round,  and  looking  as  though  they  were 
alive  and  in  readiness  to  spring  upon  us,  but  in 
reality  as  cold,  hard  and  inanimate  as  the  wall 
on  which  they  grew  (if  I  may  be  permitted  to 
use  the  expression.)  About  two  hundred  yards 
further,  as  we  proceeded  along  this  descent,  we 
saw  two  pillars  of  fine  glittering  marble,  of  a 
yellow  colour,  which  appeared  as  though  they 
had  been  designed  to  support  the  roof,  but  they 
were  of  a  brittle  friable  substance,  that  crumbled 
with  almost  a  touch.  Passing  between  these 
columns,  we  found  ourselves  on  the  brink  of 
another  precipice  more  steep  and  dangerous 
than  those  we  had  before  descended.  Our  guides, 
however,  for  fear  of  accident,  fastened  ropes 
round  our  waists,  as  there  were  lakes  of  deep 
water  all  the  way  on  the  left  hand  side.  We 
reached  the  last  passage,  or  rather  alley  I  should 
call  it,  in  safety ;  but  we  had  some  difficulty  in 
making  our  way  through  it,  owing  to  the  rag- 
ged rocks  that  hung  over  our  heads,  and  the 
broken  and  precipitous  paths  we  followed ; 
F 


54  THE   JUVENILE 

every  now  and  then  we  perceived  by  the  glaring 
of  the  torches,  dismal  lakes  and  deep  pits  of 
water  on  either  side  of  us. 

On  a  sudden  four  of  our  six  guides  disap- 
peared ;  and  though  the  other  two  encouraged 
us  to  proceed,  I  felt  uneasy  respecting  them, 
supposing,  in  all  probability,  they  had  by  some 
mischance   fallen    into  the   dark   waters   that 
surrounded  us.     While  I  was  still  lost  in  con- 
jecture, I  was  not  a  little  alarmed  by  finding 
myself  in  utter  darkness,  the  guides  having  by 
some   means   extinguished    their    torches,    an 
accident  which  I  could   not  help  considering 
very  careless  on  their  parts.     For  some  min- 
utes we  continued  to  grope  our  way  forward 
very    slowy,   unable    to    distinguish  the  least 
glimmering  of  light,  but  in  hopes  of  discover- 
ing  our   lost   companions.     I   kept   fast   hold 
of  the   hand    of  my   guide   fearful   of  losing 
my    way.     My   dismay   at   our    situation   can 
only  be  equalled  by  my  admiration  and  asto- 
nishment,   when  one    of  our  guides,  assisting 
me  over  an  immense  fragment  of  marble  rock 
that  obstructed  our  way,  bade  me  look  around 
me.     What  a  change   was   here !     Instead   of 
dark  and  frightful  rocks,  and  gloomy  caverns, 
such  as  we  had  passed  through,  all  was  splen- 
dour  and   magnificence:    this   beautiful  place 
was  illuminated  by  fifty  torches,  whose  lights 
were  reflected  by   a  thousand  rays  from   the 
glittering    crystals   and    many-coloured    spars 
which  hunff  in  brilliant  wreaths  from  the  roof 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  55 

and  sides  of  this  wondrous  grotto.  Our  lost 
guides,  who  had  only  slipped  away  to  light 
up  the  cavern  against  our  approach,  now 
appeared,  and  bade  us  welcome  to  the  Grotto 
of  Antiparos.  The  other  two  I  found  had 
purposely  extinguished  their  torches,  in  order 
to  render  our  surprise  the  greater  on  emerging 
from  utter  darkness  into  this  pavilion  of  light 
and  glory. 

How  did  I  at  this  moment  wish  for  your 
company,  my  dear  Emma,  that  you  might 
have  shared  in  my  feelings  of  delight  and 
wonder  on  beholding  this  magnificent  pro- 
duction of  nature !  My  description  of  its  beau- 
ties can  convey  to  your  mind  but  a  faint  and 
imperfect  idea  of  the  grandeur  of  the  scene ;  I 
only  wish  you  could  have  beheld  with  me  the 
great  original* 

The  grotto  in  which  we  were  is  a  cavern 
one  hundred  and  twenty  yards  wide,  and  one 
hundred  and  thirteen  in  length,  and  seems 
about  sixty  in  height;  the  depth  from  the 
surface  of  the  ground  where  we  first  began  to 
descend  is  considered  to  be,  as  near  as  can  be 
judged,  not  less  than  four  hundred  and  eighty 
five  yards. 

The  roof  of  this  cave  formed  a  most  spa- 
cious and  superb  arch,  which  was  adorned 
with  crystals  resembling  icicles  of  every  form 
you  can  imagine ;  solid  as  marble,  yet  trans- 
parent as  glass :  some  of  them  ten  and  twelve 
feet  long,  thick  as  a  man's  waist  at  the  base. 


66  THE    JUVENILE 

and  slender  towards  the  extremity.  From  these 
hung  festoons  of  leaves  and  flowers,  of  the 
same  exquisite  brilliancy,  but  varying  in  colour 
and  size. 

The  sides  of  the  arch  were  adorned  with 
clusters  of  trees  cut,  as  it  were,  out  of  alabas- 
ter, and  rising  beyond  each  other  entwined 
with  fanciful  wreaths  of  crystal  and  spar,  that 
depended  from  above,  and  seemed  tied,  as  it 
were,  to  each  other  in  luxuriant  garlands. 

The  floor  we  trod  upon  was  strewed  with 
every  different  sort  of  crystal,  red,  blue,  green, 
and  yellow,  forming  in  some  places  the  ap- 
pearance of  rivers  and  streams.  All  these 
things  are  made  by  the  dropping  of  the  water 
during  a  long  course  of  years.  Round  the 
lower  sides  of  the  grotto  are  masses  of  mar- 
ble resembling  oak  trees  and  in  the  midst  of 
this  amphitheatre  rose  a  concretion  about  fif- 
teen feet  in  height,  which  bore  the  form  of  an 
altar,  round  which  were  columns  of  various 
colours,  which  appeared  like  fantastic  candle- 
sticks ;  and  the  torches  which  our  guides  had 
placed  in  them  made  the  deception  more 
pleasing. 

Upon  our  egress  from  the  Grotto  of  Anti- 
paros,  we  were  shown  an  inscription  in  Greek 
characters,  engraved  on  a  rock  at  the  entrance 
of  the  cave,  but  so  effaced  by  time  that  we 
could  only  guess  at  the  import,  which  seemed 
to  be  that  it  was  written  by  one  Antipater  in 
the  days   of  Alexander  the   Great,  who  had 

t 


FORGET    ME    Not.  ->7 

entered  the  cavern,  but  whether  lie  had  pene- 
trated into  its  depths  we  could  not  ascertain. 

Thus  my  dear  Emma,  have  I  endeavoured 
to  give  you  some  little  account  of  the  Grotto 
of  Antiparos,  of  which  I  have  yet  many  par- 
ticulars to  relate,  but  must  defer  them  till  we 
meet  again ;  when  I  shall  have  great  pleasure 
in  presenting  you  with  some  very  fine  speci- 
mens of  crystal  and  spar,  which  curiosities  I 
have  preserved  for  you  as  an  addition  to  your 
present  collection.  Should  I  meet  with  any 
thing  worthy  of  attention,  I  shall  make  a  me- 
morandum of  it  for  your  amusement. 

In  the  mean  time  I  beg  you  to  accept  the 
sincere  regards  of  your  absent,  but  very  affec- 
tionate. 

Brother  and  Friend, 

RICHARD  HERBERT. 

Zante,  May  3,  1826 


POf 


58  THE    JUVENILE 


HYMN  TO  THE  CREATOR, 


Oh  God !  thy  wondrous  works  I  view 

Whene'er  I  look  around, 
Not  more  in  heaven's  celestial  blue 

Than  on  the  lowly  ground  ; 
Where  e'en  the  meanest  herb  and  flower 
Bear  marks  of  an  Almighty  power. 

That  power  is  seen  when  tempests  rise, 
And  wild  winds  vex  the  deep, 

Nor  less  when  in  unclouded  skies 
The  stars  their  vigil  keep, 

And  in  uncounted  myriads  roll 

In  their  bright  course  from  pole  to  pole. 

The  living  things  of  earth  and  air 

To  Thee  their  being  owe ; 
And  in  their  wondrous  forms  declare 

Thy  glorious  works  below. 
Oh !  who  could  gaze  on  them,  and  see 
No  trace,  Almighty  God,  of  thee  ? 


FOROET    ME    ftOT.  59 

Stars,  sun,  and  moon,  and  day  and  night, 

Thy  power  alike  proclaim ; 
And  midnight  gloom  and  noonday  bright 

To  Thee  are  both  the  same : 
Thou  art  in  all,  and  shall  not  we 
In  them  adore  thy  majesty  1 


But  these  shall  in  the  wreck  of  time 

Wax  old  as  doth  a  robe  ; 
And  thy  Almighty  power  sublime 

Shall  change  this  earthly  globe : 
Yea,  these  shall  fail,  but  Thou  shalt  be 
The  same  to  all  eternity ! 


60 


THE    JTJVENILE 


SOME  ACCOUNT 


TERMES  FATALE   BELLICASUS, 


OR  WHITE  ANT,  NATIVE  OF  AFRICA. 


The  White  Ant  is  an  insect  of  so  curious 
and  interesting  a  description,  and  so  little 
known,  that  I  am  induced  to  offer  a  few  par- 
ticulars respecting  its  wonderful  labours  and 
sagacious  habits  to  the  attention  of  my  young 
readers. 

The  works  of  the  white  ant  as  much  exceed 
those  of  the  common  ants,  of  bees,  of  wasps, 
and  beavers,  as  the  buildings  of  the  Europeans 
excel  those  of  the  Africans  and  other  Uncivi- 
lized people. 

The  structures  which  the  white  ants  erect 
rise  to  ten  and  twelve  feet  in  height  above  the 
surface  of  the  earth.  These  buildings  are  di- 
vided into  separate  compartments ;  the  most 
striking  of  which  are  the  royal  apartments,  the 
nurseries,  magazines  for  provision,  the  arched 


FORGET   ME   NOT.  61 

chambers  and  galleries,  with  their  various  com- 
munications, the  ranges  of  gothic- shaped  arches, 
some  of  which  are  two  and  three  feet  high,  and 
the  numerous  roads  and  avenues,  sloping  stair- 
cases, and  bridges ;  which  latter  are  constructed 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  shorten  the  distance 
between  the  several  parts  of  the  building.  In 
some  parts  of  Senegal  the  number,  magnitude, 
and  closeness  of  these  buildings  make  them  ap- 
pear in  the  distance  like  the  villages  of  the 
natives ;  and  yet  the  labourers  employed  in  this 
service  are  not  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  inch 
in  length.  There  are  three  distinct  ranks  or 
orders  among  them,  constituting  a  well  regu- 
lated economy.  They  are  as  follow :  first,  the 
labourers,  or  working  insects ;  next,  the  soldiers, 
or  fighting  order,  who  do  no  kind  of  labour 
themselves,  but  superintend  the  work  of  the  la- 
bourers, and  are  larger  than  the  former,  being 
equal  in  bulk  to  about  fifty  of  them ;  lastly,  the 
winged  or  perfect  insect,  which  may  be  termed 
the  nobility  of  the  state,  for  they  neither  fight, 
give  orders,  nor  work,  being  incapable  of  de- 
fending themselves :  they  are  capable,  however, 
of  being  elected  kings  and  queens ;  and  nature 
has  so  ordered  it,  that  they  emigrate  shortly  af- 
ter they  have  been  elevated  to  this  state,  and 
either  found  new  kingdoms,  or  perish  in  the 
course  of  a  few  days  by  becoming  the  prey  of 
innumerable  birds,  fishes,  and  reptiles.  The 
first  order,  or  labourers,  are  by  far  the  most  nu- 
merous, being  in  the  proportion  of  a  hundred 
to  one  of  the  soldiers. 


Kra  THE   JUVENILE 

As  soon  as  the  labourers  have  elected  a  king 
and  queen,  they  protect  them  from  their  ene- 
mies by  enclosing  them  in  a  chamber  of  clay, 
where  the  queen  soon  begins  to  lay  her  eggs, 
sometimes  to  the  surprising  number  of  eighty 
thousand  in  the  course  of  four  and  twenty  hours. 
These  eggs  are  instantly  removed  by  her  at- 
tendants, of  whom  there  is  always  a  sufficient 
number  waiting  in  the  royal  chamber  and  ad- 
jacent galleries,  and  carried  to  the  nurseries, 
which  are  sometimes  five  feet  distant.  Here, 
after  they  are  hatched,  the  young  insects  are 
attended  upon  with  the  greatest  care,  and  pro- 
vided with  all  things  necessary  for  their  support 
till  such  time  as  they  are  able  to  shift  for  them- 
selves, and  in  their  turns  take  part  in  the  labour 
of  the  community  in  general. 

Many  curious  and  striking  particulars  are 
related  by  naturalists  of  the  devastations  com- 
mitted by  these  singular  insects,  who  occasion 
great  logs  to  the  cultivators  of  the  soil  by  rea- 
son of  the  covered  roads  which  they  construct,, 
diverging  in  all  directions  from  the  nest,  and* 
leading  to  every  object  of  plunder  within  their 
reach.  Yet  such  is  the  economy  of  nature, 
that  the  mischief  they  commit  is  sufficiently 
counterbalanced  by  the  good  produced  by  them. 
How  many  things  there  are  that  at  first  sight 
appear  to  us  as  great  evils,  or  useless  in  the 
scale  of  creation,  but  which,  on  mature  reflec- 
tion, are  found  to  be  perfectly  consistent  with 
the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  that  merciful  Being 
who  planned  the  beautiful  world  we  inhabit. 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  63 

These  termites,  indeed,  arc  frequently  per- 
nicious to  mankind;  but  they  are  also  very 
serviceable,  and  even  necessary,  in  destroying 
dead  trees  and  decayed  substances,  which,  if 
left  on  the  surface  of  the  ground  in  these  hot 
climates,  would  in  a  short  time  pollute  the  air. 

Such  is  the  alacrity  of  these  insects  in  this 
office  that  they  will,  in  the  space  of  a  few 
weeks,  destroy  and  carry  away  the  bodies  of 
large  trees,  without  leaving  a  particle  behind 
them ;  thus  clearing  the  place  for  useful  vege- 
tation, which  soon  fills  up  every  vacancy: 
and  in  plaees  where  two  or  three  years  before, 
a  populous  town  has  flourished  (if  the  inhabi- 
tants have  abandoned  it  from  any  cause,  as  is 
frequently  the  case,)  there  shall  spring  up  a 
thick  wood,  and  all  trace  of  habitation  dis- 
appear; the  termes  not  leaving  even  the  ves- 
tige of  a  post  or  beam  to  encumber  the  face 
of  the  earth. 

Such  is  the  strength  of  the  buildings  erected 
by  these  puny  insects,  that  when  they  are 
raised  to  little  more  than  half  their  height, 
it  is/  the  praetice  of  the  wild  bulls  to  take 
advantage  of  their  elevation,  and  stand  as 
sentinels  upon  them,  while  the  rest  of  the 
herd  are  ruminating  below.  When  at  their 
full  height,  which  is  from  ten  to  twelve  feet 
above  the  surface,  they  are  used  by  the  na- 
tives, and  also  by  the  Europeans,  as  places 
to  look   out  from  over   the   tops  of  the   long 


64  THE   JUVENILE. 

grass*,  which  here  grows  to  the  astonishing: 
height  of  thirteen  feet  upon  an  average,  so 
as  entirely  to  obstruct  the  view  of  distant 
objects. 

The  conduct  of  these  creatures,  if  an  attack 
is  made  on  their  buildings,  is  very  remarkable. 
At  the  first  stroke  given  by  a  hoe  or  pickaxe, 
a  soldier  immediately  appears,  and  walks  about 
the  breach,  examining  minutely  the  point  from 
which  the  attack  was  made.  In  a  short  time 
he  is  followed  by  two  or  three  more,  who  anxi- 
ously examine  the  injury;  these  are  quickly 
joined  by  others  ;  and,  in  a  short  time,  the  whole 
body  rush  out  as  fast  as  the  breach  will  permit, 
their  numbers  increasing  as  long  as  any  one 
continues  to  assault  them ;  during  which  time 
they  are  in  a  state  of  the  most  violent  bustle 
and  agitation ;  some  of  them  employed  in 
beating  with  their  forceps  upon  the  building, 
making  a  noise  that  may  be  heard  to  the  dis- 
tance of  two  or  three  feet. 

On    ceasing  to   disturb   them,   the   soldiers 
retire,    and   are    succeeded   by   the  labourers  ;#■ 
who  hasten  in  various  directions  toward   the 
breach,    each  bearing  in  his  mouth  a  burden 

*  The  Guinea  grass,  which  is  so  well  known  and  so 
highly  esteemed  by  the  planters  in  the  West  Indies, 
grows  in  Africa  to  the  height  uf  thirteen  feet ;  which 
height  it  attains  in  the  course  of  five  or  six  months ; 
so  rapidly  does  vegetation  proceed  in  hot  climates.  The 
growth  of  other  plants  beara  the   same  proportion. 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  65 

of  mortar  properly  tempered.  Though  there 
are  millions  of  them,  so  well  regulated  are 
they  that  they  never  embarrass  one  another 
in  their  labours;  and  in  the  course  of  a  short 
time  a  wall  is  raised  by  the  diligence  of  these 
wonderful  insects,  that  completely  tills  up  the 
chasm  that  had  been  made. 

One  soldier  attends  every  six  hundred  or 
thousand  labourers ;  these  appear  to  be  di- 
rectors and  overseers  of  the  work,  for  they 
never  touch  the  mortar  themselves,  either  to 
lift  or  carry  it.  One  soldier  in  particular 
places  himself  against  the  wall  which  is  being 
repaired,  and  frequently  makes  the  noise  al- 
ready mentioned,  which  is  answered  by  a 
loud  hiss  from  the  labourers,  who  evidently 
redouble  their  exertions.  It  is  worthy  of  ob- 
servation that  these  creatures  are  regulated 
by  such  exact  laws,  that  no  emergency,  how- 
ever great,  will  ever  induce  the  lighting  order, 
or  soldiers,  to  work,  or  the  labourers  to  take 
the  office  of  defenders  or  overseers.  The 
obstinacy  of  the  soldiers  is  so  great,  that  they 
will  fight  to  the  last,  disputing  every  inch  of 
ground  so  as  often  to  drive  away  the  negroes 
who  are  without  shoes,  and  make  the  white 
people  bleed  plentifully  through  their  stock- 
ings.— Such  are  particulars  which  ingenious 
travellers  and  naturalists  have  given  us  res- 
pecting the  habits  and  economy  of  the  Termes 
Bellicasus,  or  African  White  Ant. 


G 


66  THE    JUVENILE 


THE 


ORPHAN  BROTHER  AND  SISTER. 


Emily  and  Josiah  Rivers  were  the  orphan 
children  of  a  poor  clergymen,  who  died  when 
Emily  was  fourteen,  and  Josiah  eight  years 
of  age.  A  few  months  before,  these  children 
had  lost  their  mother,  and  their  father  had 
been  forced  to  spend  all  his  money,  and  even 
sell  his  furniture  to  pay  the  expenses  incurred 
by  her  illness ;  so  that,  at  his  death,  his 
young  son  and  daughter  were  left  in  mean 
lodgings  in  London,  with  neither  money  nor 
friends,  and  entirely  devoid  of  means  for  their 
support.  This  was  a  sad  situation  for  children 
of  their  tender  years  ;  but  they  were  too  much 
absorbed  in  grief  for  the  loss  of  their  dear 
papa,  to  think  of  their  destitute  circumstances 
at  first :  and  it  was  not  till  they  returned  from 
his  funeral,  and  entered  their  lonely  apart- 
ment, now  so  silent  and  desolate,  that  they 
felt  the  full  extent  of  their  loss,  and  began  to 
wonder  what  would  become  of  them. 

"Oh,  Emily!  dear  sister  Emify !"  said  Jo- 
siah, raising  his  streaming  eyes  to  the  pale  face 
of  his  sorrowing  sister,  "  what  shall   we    do 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  67 

without  dear  papa  ?  who  will  feed  and  clothe 
us,  and  take  care  of  us,  now  he  is  gone  t" 
"  Even  He,  my  brother,  who  clothes  the  lilies 
of  the  field,  and  feedeth  the  young  ravens 
when  they  call  upon  him,"  replied  Emily, 
struggling  to  overcome  the  grief  which  almost 
choked  her  utterance,  that  she  might  console 
her  young  brother.  "Do  not  think,  dear  Jo- 
siah,  that  God,  who  has  been  pleased  to  deprive 
us  of  our  earthly  parent,  will  leave  us  desti- 
tute. We  are  now  his  children;  for  has  he 
not  said,  '  Leave  your  fatherless  children  to 
my  care?'  Let  us  then,  my  dear  brother,  put 
our  whole  trust  in  him,  and  he  will  not  for- 
sake us  in  our  time  of  need."  Josiah  tenderly 
loved  his  sister,  and  was  accustomed  to  look 
up  to  her  for  counsel  in  all  his  little  difficulties, 
and  for  comfort  in  all  his  sorrows;  and  his 
tears  flowed  with  less  violence  as  he  listened 
to  her  soothing  Avords.  After  a  silence  of  a 
few  minutes,  Josiah  raised  his  head  from  his 
sister's  shoulder;  and  taking  her  hand,  and 
lookingTanxioiisly  in  her  face,  he  said,  "  Emily, 
I  am  very  hungry,  and  so  must  you  be,  for 
you  have  eaten  nothing  since  last  night.  You 
said  that  God  would  feed  us,  but  how  is  that 
to  be  j" 

"  By  giving  us  ability  and  resolution  to 
seek  our  own  living  by  the  labour  of  our  hands, 
and  by  sending  down  his  blessing  upon  our 
endeavours  for  that  purpose,"  replied  Emily; 
"and  as  that  is  not  to  be  obtained  by  wasting 


bb  THE   JUVENILE 

the  precious  time  in  fruitless  tears  and  la- 
mentations, let  us  see  what  can  be  done." 

Emily  then  put  on  her  bonnet,  and  taking 
her  little  brother  by  the  hand,  went  to  the 
shop  of  a  stationer,  of  whom  her  father  used  to 
purchase  books  and  paper;  and,  having  in- 
formed him  of  their  distressed  circumstances, 
asked  him  if  he  would  employ  her  to  make 
pens  and  rule  account  books. 

"  Poor  children,  yours  is  a  hard  case,  to  be 
left  in  such  distress  at  your  tender  age ;  I  am 
heartily  sorry  for  your  situation,  and  would 
willingly  render  you  any  assistance  that  lies 
in  my  power,"  said  Mr.  Brooks ;  "  but  I  fear," 
said  he  to  Emily,  "  if  I  were  to  give  thee  such 
employment  as  thou  desirest,  thou  wouldst 
only  spoil  my  books,  and  cut  up  my  quills  to  no 
purpose." 

"You  would  not  say  so,  sir,  if  you  knew  what 
nice  pens  my  sister  Emily  makes,"  said  Josiah, 
looking  anxiously  up  in  Mr.  Brooks'  face  as  he 
spoke.  "  And  what  shouldst  thou  know  of  the 
matter,  my  little  man?"  said  Mr.  Brooks  good- 
humouredly,  patting  Josiah's  head. 

44  Dear  sir,  who  should  know  better  than  I, 
when  my  sister  Emily  has  mended  all  my  pens, 
and  ruled  my  copies,  ever  since  poor  papa  fell 
ill?  and  papa  himself  said  she  made  better  pens 
than  he  did ;  and  my  papa  never  told  stories." 

"  If  you  would  allow  me  to  cut  a  few  quills 
in  your  presence,  sir,  I  think  I  could  satisfy  you 
of  my  abilities  in  that  way,"  said  Emily  mo- 
destly. 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  69 

u  Well,  well,  my  dear  child !"  said  Mr. 
Brooks,  putting  some  quills  before  her,  "  let 
me  see  what  thou  canst  do." 

Emily  made  six  pens,  and  begged  Mr.  Brooks 
to  try  them ;  he  did  so,  and  finding  them  very 
good  ones,  and  neatly  cut,  he  gave  her  a  hun- 
dred quills,  showing  her  at  the  same  time  the 
method  of  binding  them  into  bundles  when 
made ;  and  told  her  he  would  give  her  a  shilling 
for  her  work  if  well  done,  and  he  would  endea- 
vour to  give  her  a  constant  employment  either 
in  making  pens  or  ruling  copy  books. 

Emily  rejoiced  in  having  a  prospect  before 
her  of  earning  an  honest  livelihood,  could  hard- 
ly* find  words  to  express  the  gratitude  she  felt 
for  Mr.  Brooks'  kindness;  and,  with  a  glad 
heart  and  light  step,  she  returned  to  her  lodg- 
ings. When  there,  she  told  the  mistress  of  the 
house  that  she  had  obtained  an  employment  by 
which  she  thought  she  could  earn  sufficient 
money  to  support  herself  and  her  brother,  and 
to  pay  for  the  rooms  they  then  occupied ;  and 
asked  her  to  let  them  remain  in  her  house  on 
the  same  terms.  Then  the  good  woman  agreed 
to  let  them  stay,  and  told  Josiah  she  would  give 
him  two  shillings  a  week  if  he  would  go  on  er- 
rands for  her,  and  answer  the  door  when  any 
one  knocked,  for  she  did  not  keep  a  servant. 
Josiah  gladly  accepted  her  offer,  and  promised 
to  be  careful  and  diligent  in  all  she  required  of 
him ;  and  he  felt  happy  that  he  too  had  it  in  his 
power  to  earn  a  trifle ;  for  as  he  was  such  a 
G  2 


YO  THE    JUVENILE 

little  boy,  he  did  not  think  he  could  hate  done 
any  thing  to  contribute  towards  his  maintenance. 

Josiah  was  always  so  quick  in  going  on  er- 
rands, and  performing  the  little  services  that  the 
good  mistress  of  the  house  required  from  him, 
that  he  had  plenty  of  time  to  strip  the  quills  for 
Emily,  and  read  to  her  while  she  made  the 
pens. 

When  Emily  had  finished  her  job,  she  tied 
the  pens  into  four  bundles  according  to  Mr. 
Brooks'  directions,  and  carried  them  to  the 
shop ;  and  so  well  pleased  was  he  with  the 
manner  in  which  they  were  done,  that  he  gave 
her  a  thousand  quills  to  cut  into  pens  at  the 
same  price,  and  requested  her  to  bring  home 
five  hundred  as  soon  as  they  were  finished,  as 
he  supposed  she  might  be  in  need  of  the  money 
before  the  rest  were  completed. 

14  This  is  very  considerate  of  you,  sir,"  said 
Emily ;  "  for  as  I  have  no  more  money  than 
the  shilling  you  have  just  paid  me,  I  should 
have  been  in  want  of  bread  for  myself  and  my 
brother  before  I  could  have  made  a  thousand 
pens."  "  Poor  child !"  said  Mr.  Brooks,  "  thou 
wilt  have  a  thousand  uses  for  that  solitary  shil- 
ling before  two  days  are  gone.  I  am  not  a  rich 
man,  for  I  have  a  numerous  family  of  my  own  ; 
but  I  can  spare  a  trifle  for  the  relief  of  the  vir- 
tuous and  industrious  when  in  distress  like  thine. 
Take  this,  my  child ;  I  wish  it  were  double  for 
thy  sake."  Saying  this,  he  put  into  Emily's 
hand  a  crown  piece.     Emily  could  only  thajik 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  71 

him  by  her  tears,  for  the  heart  of  the  orphan 
girl  was  too  full  to  find  words  by  which  to  ex- 
press the  gratitude  she  felt ;  but  her  kind  friend 
knew  all  she  would  have  said,  and  bade  her  has- 
ten home  to  her  brother,  who  might  be  wanting 
her,  as  it  was  getting  late. 

Emily  did  not  forget  to  remind  Josiah  that 
God  had  not  suffered  them  to  want  bread,  nor 
forsaken  them  in  their  distress;  and  before  they 
went  to  bed,  she  made  him  read  to  her  the 
sixth  chapter  of  St.  Matthew's  Gospel,  and  then 
join  with  her  in  returning  thanks  to  their  Hea-r 
venly  Father  for  his  past  mercies  vouchsafed 
towards  them,  and  to  implore  a  continuance  of 
his  favour  for  the  time  to  come. 

The  next  day  they  rose  as  soon  as  it  was 
light,  knelt  down  side  by  side,  and,  with  uplifted 
hands  and  earnest  minds,  begged  a  blessing  on 
their  employments,  and  thanked  that  Power 
which  had  watched  over  their  slumbers,  and 
permitted  them  to  behold  the  light  of  another 
day.  After  this  duty  was  performed,  they  each 
read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible  ;  and  Emily  repeat- 
ed to  her  brother  this  beautiful  verse  from  Pope's 
Universal  Prayer: — 

This  day  be  bread  and  peace  my  lot, 

All  else  beneath  the  sun 
Thouknow'st  if  best  bestow'd  or  not, 

So  let  thy  will  be  done. 

They  then  partook  of  their  frugal  breakfast, 
and  proceeded  to   perform  the  business  of  the 


>2 


THE    JUVENILE 


day.  While  Emily  made  the  bed,  and  set  the 
room  in  order,  Josiah  stripped  a  number  of 
quills  against  she  was  at  leisure  to  begin  making 
the  pens ;  and  then  went  down  to  the  mistress 
of  the  house  to  receive  her  orders.  Sometimes 
she  set  him  to  clean  out  her  bird-cages,  and  sup- 
ply the  birds  with  seeds  and  water,  for  she  sold 
birds  and  little  animals,  such  as  dormice,  and 
squirrels,  and  guineapigs;  and  she  had  a  great 
many  cages  full  of  canaries,  and  goldfinches, 
and  linnets,  and  turtle  cloves ;  and  it  was  a  plea- 
ing  task  for  the  young  Josiah  to  feed  these  pretr 
ty  creatures,  and  attend  on  them :  besides  he 
loved  to  watch  their  different  movements,  and 
listen  to  their  sweet  notes.  When  he  had  at- 
tended on  his  little  family,  as  he  called  them, 
he  went  on  all  tiie  errands  the  good  woman 
wished,  and  never  stopped  to  look  into  the  shops, 
or  to  play  with  the  idle  boys,  who  often  tried  to 
entice  him  from  his  business;  but  Josiah  knew 
his  employer  would  be  displeased  with  such  con- 
duct :  and  he  also  knew  it  would  give  great  pain 
to  his  sister  Emily  if  he  got  into  bad  habits, 
and  kept  bad  and  improper  company ;  so  he  did 
all  his  biddings  with  due  diligence,  and  by  this 
means  he  was  commended  by  his  employer,  and 
had  time  to  learn  his  tasks  and  to  assist  Emily 
in  preparing  her  quills.  Some  children  would 
have  thought  it  a  trouble  and  hardship  to  learn 
lessons  and  write  copies,  after 'having  worked 
hard  all  day;  but  Josiah,  though  but  a  little 
jboy,  was  well  aware  of  the  value  and  importance 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  73 

of  a  good  education :  and  he  was  very  thankful 
to  his  kind  sister,  who  took  so  much  pains  to 
teach  him ;  and  he  was  always  glad  when  even- 
ing was  come,  because  he  had  nothing  more  to 
do,  but  could  sit  down  quietly  at  Emily's  little 
table,  and  read  aloud  to  her  in  some  well  chosen 
book  of  history,  or  travels,  or  biography,  or 
moral  poetry ;  for  they  still  were  the  possessors 
of  their  father's  little  library :  and  Emily  would 
rather  have  lived  on  bread  and  water  than  have 
parted  with  any  of  the  books  which  she  had 
read  with  that  beloved  parent,  and  from  which 
he  had  given  her  such  sweet  lessons  of  religion 
and  virtue.  And  now  that  beloved  instructor 
was  gone,  these  volumes  seemed  more  than  ever 
precious  in  her  sight :  they  were  endeared  to  her 
by  a  thousand  tender  recollections ;  and  when 
perusing  their  pages,  she  seemed  once  more  to 
be  holding  converse  with  that  dear  parent,  though 
he  was  low  in  the  dust.  There  were  passages 
too  in  some  of  the  books  remarkable  for  some 
moral  sentiment,  which  he  had  marked  with  his 
pencil  for  her  observation ;  and  when  she  met 
with  these,  her  eyes  would  fill  with  tears,  and 
she  would  sigh  at  the  recollection  of  past  hours 
spent  in  the  society  of  the  friend  and  instructor 
of  her  youth ;  but  she  was  too  sincere  a  Chris- 
tian to  repine  at  the  will  of  God,  or  to  indulge 
long  in  feelings  of  vain  regret,  which  would 
serve  only  to  weaken  her  exertions,  and  render 
her  less  active  in  the  path  of  duty  which  it  was 
necessary  for  her  to  pursue.     Though  earnest 


/4  THE    JUVENILE 

in  the  performance  of  her  daily  labour,  Emily 
neither  neglected  her  religious  duties  nor  the 
improvement  of  her  brother's  morals ;  and  she 
strove,  with  the  care  of  a  mother,  to  impress  on 
his  young  mind  a  hatred  of  vice,  and  a  love  of 
virtue  and  probity. 

She  was  aware  this  child  was  at  an  age  when 
the  mind  is  so  apt  to  be  biased  by  the  influence 
of  bad  companions  to  do  that  which  is  wrong, 
and  from>$ll  such  it  was  her  constant  care  to 
warn  him.  Emily  remembered  that  this  little 
boy  had  lost  his  parents  at  an  earlier  period  of 
life  than  herself;  and  she  endeavoured  to  supply 
to  him,  as  far  as  laid  in  her  power,  their  place. 
Hers  was  a  labour  of  love,  and  the  young  Josiah 
fully  repaid  her  by  his  dutiful  conduct  and  strict 
attention  to  all 'her  commands;  nor  would  he 
have  done  any  thing  contrary  to  her  wishes,  or 
have  given  her  willingly  a  moment's  uneasiness 
on  any  account  whatever. 

In  the  course  of  a  little  time  Emily  became 
so  expert  in  the  use  of  her  penknife,  that  with 
the  assistance  of  Josiah  in  stripping  the  quills, 
she  could  complete  a  thousand  pens  in  the 
week.  Every  Saturday  she  carried  home  her 
work,  and  received  the  payment  for  it  of  Mr. 
Brooks ;  who  sometimes  gave  her  account  books 
or  copy  books  to  rule,  if  he  had  no  quills  for 
her  to  cut ;  for  which  he  paid  her  as  liberally 
as  he  could  afford  to  do,  and  often  sent  a  little 
present  of  fruit  or  cakes,  or  any  delicacy  which 
he  thought  might  be  agreeable  to  her  and  her 
little  brother* 


FORGET    A1B    NOT.  75 

Oiie  week  with  another  Emily  and  Josiah 
earned  from  ten.  to  twelve  shillings :  with  part 
of  this  Emily  purchased  provisions ;  paid  the 
woman  of  the  house  for  her  lodgings ;  a  pro- 
portion she  laid  by  every  week  for  the  purchase 
of  clothes  and  shoes,  and  any  little  expenses 
that  might  occur;  and  a  trifle  she  laid  aside 
for  the  relief  of  any  distressed  object  who  might 
be  in  greater  need  than  themselves.  "  There 
are  many  poor  orphans  in  this  grei.tu.city,  my 
dear  brother,"  would  Emily  say  (when  making 
the  little  weekly  deposit  in  the  box  set  apart  for 
that  purpose,)  "  who  are  far  worse  off  than  we 
are,  or  than  we  have  ever  been ;  and  who  have 
not,  like  us,  received  the  advice  and  instruction 
of  a  kind  and  good  parent,  nor  the  education 
to  enable  them  to  procure  for  themselves  an 
honest  living :  shall  not  we  consider  their  ne- 
cessities, and  lay  aside  a  trifle  from  our  little 
store  for  their  succour?  God,  who  accepted  the 
widow's  mite,  will  not  despise  our  offering,  small 
though  it  be ;  and,  be  assured,  we  shall  never 
miss  it,  but  it  will  ensure  a  blessing  on  what 
remains." 

Every  Sunday,  after  the  performance  of  their 
private  devotions,  Emily  and  Josiah  proceeded 
hand  in  hand  towards  the  parish  church;  where, 
meekly  seated  on  one  of  the  low  benches  allot- 
ted for  the  accommodation  of  the  poor,  with 
pure  hearts  and  humble  voices  did  they  join  in 
the  public  worship  oi"  that  gracious  God  who 
had  watched  over  their  unprotected,  rluldhocd, 


70  THE    JUVENILE 

and  offer  up  their  prayers  of  praises  and  thanks- 
giving to  Him  who  is  the  Author  and  Giver  of 
all  good. 

Their  deep  mourning,  unaffected  piety,  and 
most  sweet  countenances,  at  length  attracted  the 
notice  of  the  clergyman ;  and  he  inquired  of 
several  persons  who  these  children  were,  but  no 
one  knew  the  friendless  orphans.  Still  he  ob- 
served them  constant  in  their  attendance  both  at 
morning  and  evening  service  every  Sunday; 
and,  finding  none  of  the  congregation  took  any 
notice  of  them,  he  resolved  to  speak  to  them 
himself,  so  much  was  he  pleased  by  their  mo- 
dest and  devout  behaviour. 

One  morning  he  overtook  them  in  the  church- 
yard, and  said,  "My  young  friends,  I  have  been 
much  gratified  by  observing  your  pious  conduct 
at  my  church  for  some  months  past,  but  should 
like  to  know  the  reason  why  neither  of  your 
parents  ever  accompany  you  there'?"  \ 

"We  have  none,  sir,"  replied  Emily,  burst- 
ing into  tears.  "  Indeed !  that  is  a  sad  mis- 
fortune at  your  tender  age  ;  but  you  have  some 
kind  uncle,  or  aunt,  or  friend  with  whom  you 
live !"  said  Mr.  Bernard,  for  that  was  the  clergy- 
man's name. 

"  Alas,  sir !  we  have  neither  friend  nor  re- 
lation in  the  world,"  replied  Emily  with  in- 
creasing emotion.  "  And  who  then  takes  care 
of  you,  my  children'?"  asked  Mr.  Bernard, 
regarding  the  orphans  with  a  look  of  deep  sym- 
pathy. 


@££3F12&£3  WBBWmM   SS  SS33EB5& « 


FORGET    ME    NOT,  77 

"  God  takes  care  of  us,  my  good  sir,"  said 
Emily ;  "  and  he  has  never  yet  forsaken  us, 
nor  suffered  us  to  want  bread." 

"  He  is  indeed  a  Father  of  the  fatherless," 
observed  Mr.  Bernard,  "  and  the  friend  of  all 
such  as  put  their  trust  in  him." 

He  then  asked  Emily  where  they  lived,  as 
he  intended  to  take  an  early  opportunity  of  call- 
ing on  them,  that  he  might  have  a  little  further 
conversation.  Emily  took  one  of  the  good  wo- 
man's cards  from  her  pocket  book,  and  wrote 
on  it  with  her  pencil,  Emily  and  Josiah  Rivers, 
and  presented  it  to  him  with  a  low  courtesy. 
"  Josiah  Rivers  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bernard  with 
surprise,  "  I  once  knew  a  clergyman  of  that 
name ;  we  were  fellow  students  in  the  same 
college  at  Oxford."  "  My  papa  was  a  clergy- 
man, his  name  was  Josiah  ;  perhaps  it  was  him 
that  you  knew,"  said  Josiah.  "  I  should  scarce- 
ly think  it  could  be  the  same ;  for  the  Josiah 
Rivers  I  knew  went  to  live  in  Wales,  where  I 
understand  he  has  resided  many  years,"  ob- 
served Mr.  Bernard. 

"  And  so  our  dear  papa  did  once,"  replied 
Emily,  "  but  when  poor  mamma  fell  ill,  and 
the  medical  gentlemen  in  the  country  could  do 
her  no  good,  he  brought  her  to  London  for  better 
advice,  but  mamma  grew  worse  and  worse,  and 
papa  soon  spent  all  the  money  he  had  in  paying 
doctors'  bills,  and  getting  such  things  as  were 
recommended  by  the  physician  to  do  her  good; 
^nd  when  our  dear  mamma  died,  he  was  forced 
H 


78  THE    JUVENILE 

to  write  to  a  friend  in  the  country  to  sell  his  fur- 
niture, that  he  might  be  able  to  pay  the  expenses 
of  her  funeral,  and  buy  mourning  for  himself 
and  us.  Poor  papa  never  was  well  after  he  lost 
mamma ;  he  Avas  full  of  grief  for  her  loss,  and 
often  was  much  perplexed  at  the  thoughts  of 
what  would  become  of  us :  at  last  he  grew  so 
ill  that  he  could  not  leave  his  bed  ;  and  though 
we  nursed  him  as  well  as  we  could,  and  never 
left  him,  he  continued  to  grow  weaker  and  weak- 
er every  day.  He  never  complained  much,  for 
he  was  so  good  and  patient ;  but  when  he  look- 
ed at  me  and  my  little  brother,  the  tears  used  to 
course  one  another  down  his  pale  cheek,  and  he 
would  hold  our  hands  in  his,  and  pray  that  God 
would  take  care  of  us  when  he  was  gone,  till 
Josiah  and  I  could  not  help  crying  too ;  and  he 
would  tell  me  to  be  a  mother  to  my  little  brother, 
and  bid  Josiah  mind  all  I  said  to  him.  Ah, 
sir!"  continued  Emily,  weeping  at  the  remem- 
brance of  her  past  sorrows,  "  I  thought,  when 
my  father  died,  my  heart  must  have  broken; 
but  I  recollected  his  dying  words,  '  not  to  sor- 
row for  him  as  those  that,  have  no  hope;'  and 
that  he  died  but  to  rise  again  at  the  last  day. 
And  I  knew  that  it  was  my  duty  to  submit  to 
the  will  of  God,  and  that,  by  giving  way  to 
grief,  I  should  unfit  myself  for  performing  these 
things  that  were  necessary  to  be  done.  The 
good  woman  of  the  house  was  very  kind  to  us 
in  our  affliction,  and  managed  those  matters 
which  I  was  too  young  and  too  much  absorbed 


FORGET    ME   NOT.  79 

in  my  own  sad  reflections  to  think  of  at  the 
time;  and  this  was  a  great  comfort  to  us. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  found,  after  all  the  funeral  costs 
were  paid,  that  we  had  no  money  left,  and  if  we 
had  not  had  black  clothes  bought  for  us  when 
dear  mamma  died,  we  should  not  even  have 
been  able  to  go  in  mourning  for  papa,  so  com- 
pletely destitute  were  we  at  that  time." 

"  Poor  children,  and  what  did  you  do  then, 
without  friends  and  without  money,  so  young 
as  you  are?"  said  Mr.  Bernard,  with  a  look  of 
great  compassion. 

"  We  put  our  trust  in  Him  who  is  the  orphan's 
friend  and  the  father  of  the  fatherless,"  replied 
Emily  meekly,  "  and  he  did  not  forsake  us." 

Mr.  Bernard  commended  these  good  children, 
and  told  them  it  would  not  be  long  before  they 
saw  him  again ;  and  went  his  way. 

A  few  days  after  this  conversation  had  taken 
place,  Mr.  Bernard  called  upon  the  orphans ;  and 
the  woman  of  the  house,  as  she  showed  him  up 
stairs,  told  him  what  good  and  virtuous  young 
people  her  lodgers  were,  and  that  they  always 
spared  a  trifle  from  their  hard-earned  store  to 
relieve  the  wants  of  those  who  were  in  distress, 
for  which  she  said  she  was  certain  the  blessing 
of  God  would  rest  upon  them. 

When  Mr.  Bernard  entered  the  little  sitting 
room  (which  was  on  the  second  floor,)  he  found 
Emily  busily  employed  making  the  pens,  while 
Josiah  sat  on  a  low  stool  near  her,  reading  Rol- 
lin's  Ancient  History.      At  his  entrance  they 


80  THE    JUVENILE 

both  rose  ;  and  Josiah,  closing  the  book,  placed 
a  chair  for  him  near  the  fire  (for  it  was  winter 
time  and  very  cold  weather.) 

"  My  dear  young  friends,"  said  Mr.  Ber- 
nard, kindly  taking  a  hand  of  each  as  he  spoke, 
"  I  trust  my  errand  is  a  pleasing  one,  and  will 
render  me  a  welcome  visitor  here." 

"  That,  sir,  you  will  always  be,"  said  Emily, 
*'  for  the  interest  you  so  kindly  take  in  our  wel- 
fare." 

u  I  have  not  indeed,  my  dears,  been  neglect- 
ful of  your  interest,"  replied  Mr.  Bernard.  "  I 
have  obtained  for  Josiah  admittance  into  the 
school  established  for  the  education  and  main- 
tenance of  the  orphan  sons  of  the  clergy;  by 
which  means  he  will  be  genteelly  clothed,  and 
given  a  liberal  education,  such  as  will  one  day 
fit  him  for  entering  into  holy  orders.  And  as  for 
you,  Emily,  my  mother,  who  is  nearly  blind,  will 
be  happy  to  receive  you  as  a  companion  to  read 
to  her  and  attend  her  in  her  walks,  and  perform 
for  her  any  little  services  which  she  may  require 
of  you.  If  you  are  willing  to  undertake  this 
office,  you  will  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  fami- 
ly, sit  at  my  own  table,  and  receive  an  annual 
stipend  for  your  entire  use  and  benefit ;  and  I 
myself  will  give  you  every  advantage  which 
books  and  instruction  can  afford." 

The  eyes  of  the  grateful  orphans  overflowed 
with  tears  of  joy  at  this  happy  and  unexpected 
change  in  their  prospects.  "  Oh,  sir,"  said 
Emily,  when   she  could  find  words  to  speak, 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  81 

"  how  shall  we  ever  repay  you  for  all  you  have 
done  for  us?"  "  By  continuing  to  pursue  the 
same  path  of  virtue  you  have  hitherto  observed," 
replied  Mr.  Bernard.  "  Believe  me,  my  good 
children,  that  it  is  sufficient  recompense  for  me 
to  see  you  made  happy  through  my  means ;  and 
be  assured  that  while  you  continue  to  put  your 
trust  in  God,  he  will  never  forget  you,  and  not 
only  reward  you  in  this  world,  but  also  in  the 
world  to  come  with  life  everlasting." 

May  this  story  afford  another  proof  to  my 
young  readers,  that  those  who  remember  their 
Creator  in  the  days  of  their  youth  will  not  be 
forgotten  by  him  in  the  time  of  trouble. 


H  2 


82 


THE    JUVENILK 


ON  CHARITY 


Oh  !  let  me  never  vainly  see 
An  object  meet  for  charity, 
When  I  have  power  to  lend  relief 
To  sickness,  poverty,  and  grief: — 
For  read  we  not,  each  penny  spent 
In  aiding  want  to  God  is  lent ; 
And  all  that  to  the  poor  is  given 
Is  seen  and  register'd  in  heaven? 
Then  let  me  hasten,  while  I  may, 
To  lay  up  treasures  for  the  day 
When  time  shall  be  no  more, 
And  I  must  leave  my  earthly  store  ; 
Of  which  the  sum  will  matter  not 
If  I,  according  to  my  lot, 
Gave  to  the  indigent  and  poor, 
Nor  sent  the  cripple  from  my  door ; 
And  if  to  give  my  means  are  small, 
Have  I  not  power,  and  have  not  all, 
By  acts  of  kindness,  to  impart 
Much  comfort  to  the  sufferer's  heart  % 
May  I  not  sooth  the  widow's  wo  1 
And  when  the  tears  of  orphans  flow, 
If  wealth  I  have  not,  may  not  I 
Accord  my  tender  sympathy? 


FORGET    ME    NOT. 


Can  I  not  on  the  poor  attend, 
And  helpless  infancy  befriend ; 
And  kindness  and  compassion  show 
To  strangers,  kindred,  friend,  or  foe, 
To  young  and  aged,  high  and  low  ? 
These  are  the  works  of  Christian  love, 
Which  God  has  promised  to  approve; 
The  charity  which  he  has  shown 
Shall  for  a  many  sins  atone. 


84  THE    JUVENILE 


ACCOUNT   OF    PAPER.      ITS    ORIGIN 

AND   USES. 


To  those  among  my  young  readers  who  may 
be  unacquainted  with  the  origin  of  this  valuable 
article,  a  little  information  respecting  it  may 
prove  acceptable ;  and  certainly  the  subject  de- 
serves our  attention,  when  we  consider  it  as 
partly  the  means  by  which  all  the  knowledge 
and  amusement  we  derive  from  reading  is  ob- 
tained, to  say  nothing  of  the  common  uses  to 
which  this  manufacture  is  daily  applied. 

Before  the  invention  of  paper,  the  first 
materials  employed  by  mankind  (after  the  art 
of  writing  had  been  discovered)  for  conveying 
ideas,  and  handing  down  records  and  laws  to 
posterity,  were  stones,  bricks,  thin  planks  of 
wood,  plates  of  lead,  tablets  of  ivory,  wax 
spread  thin  over  boxes  of  wood,  and  written 
on  with  a  pointed  instrument ;  the  leaves  and 
inner  bark  of  trees,  pieces  of  silk,  and  rolls  of 
cloth ;  and  the  skins  of  goats  and  sheep  (from 
which  parchment  was  made.)  Such  were  the 
substitutes  for  paper  made  use  of  in  former 
times :   of  these,  stone  appears  to  have   been 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  85 

the  most  ancient.  The  ten  commandments, 
we  are  informed,  were  written  on  two  tables 
of  stone.  Josephus,  the  Jewish  historian, 
speaks  of  two  pillars,  the  one  of  stone,  the 
other  of  brick,  on  which  were  engraved  certain 
astronomical  discoveries,  supposed  to  have  been 
made  at  a  veiy  early  period. 

The  Greek  poet  Hesiod's  works  were  written 
on  thin  plates  of  lead ;  the  laws  of  Solon,  on 
planks  of  wood.  But  this  mode  of  writing 
was  of  course  very  laborious  and  inconvenient ; 
and,  as  mankind  became  more  enlightened, 
they  found  means  at  length  of  rendering  the 
art  of  writing  easier,  and  of  more  general 
benefit,  by  the  invention  of  paper;  which, 
though  it  has  undergone  many  improvements, 
has  continued  in  general  esteem  ever  since, 
and  has  spread  itself  through  every  part  of 
the  known  world. 

The  word  paper  is  derived  from  the  Greek 
word  papyrus,  the  name  of  an  Egyptian  reed, 
which  grows  in  great  abundance  on  the  banks 
of  the  river  Nile,  from  which  the  first  manu- 
facture called  paper  was  made. 

The  Egyptians  are  generally  supposed  to 
have  been  the  first  people  who  made  paper 
from  the  papyrus,  but  at  what  period  is  un- 
certain. The  Greeks  and  Romans  were  early 
acquainted  with  its  use  ;  and  it  formed  a  great 
article  of  commerce  between  the  Egyptians 
and  those  nations.  There  are  many  speci- 
mens of  Egyptian  writing  on  paper  made  of 
the  papyrus  to  be  seen  in  the  British  Museum. 


DO  THE   JUVENILE 

The  Chinese  also  claim  the  merit  of  this 
invention,  and  they  have  carried  the  art  to  a 
great  degree  of  perfection.  It  is  supposed  to 
have  been  discovered  by  them  about  one  hun- 
dred and  sixty  years  previous  to  the  Christian 
era.  Before  they  arrived  at  the  knowledge 
of  this  useful  art,  they  wrote  on  tablets  of 
bamboo  with  bodkins  of  iron;  also  on  satin 
with  a  pencil. 

The  Chinese  paper  is  much  smoother,  thin- 
ner, and  softer  than  that  manufactured  in 
Europe,  and  is  particularly  well  adapted  for 
drawing  with  the  pencil  and  for  receiving 
the  impression  of  copper-plates,  as  it  gives  a 
peculiar  softness  to  the  engraving.  There  are 
many  different  kinds  of  paper  made  in  China, 
each  province  differing  from  the  other  in  the 
materials  of  which  their  paper  is  composed. 
By  some  it  is  made  from  the  inner  part  of 
the  young  bamboo;  others  manufacture  it* 
from  the  case  of  the  silkworm,  after  the  silk 
has  been  reeled  off;  the  northern  provinces 
use  the  bark  of  the  paper  mulberry  tree ;  and 
in  the  province  of  Sechwen  they  make  it  from 
linen  rags,  as  in  our  own  country. 

The  Japanese  paper,  which  resembles  the 
Chinese,  only  it  possesses  more  durable  quali- 
ties, is  made  from  the  paper  tree,  a  native  of 
that  country,  and  is  varnished  over  with  a 
liquor  boiled  from  rice,  and  an  infusion  of  the 
oreni  root  which  renders  it  very  strong  and 
pliable  and  not  easily  to  be  torn. 

The  Bramins  wrote  on  leaves  of  the  Malabar 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  87 

palm;  the  natives  of  Ceylon  on  those  of  the 
talipot  tree,  and  with  pens  made  of  reed;  the 
Siamese  on  a  sort  of  paper  made  from  the 
bark  of  a  tree  called  in  their  language  pliokkoi, 
and  instead  of  a  pen  used  a  bodkin  of  fullers' 
earth,  which  we  may  suppose  is  something 
similar  to  a  crayon. 

Those  sorts  of  paper  most  worthy  of  notice, 
and  which  have  been  held  in  the  greatest 
esteem,  are  the  Egyptian  paper,  the  Chinese, 
that  made  from  cotton,  Japanese  paper,  and 
lastly  European  paper,  or  paper  made  from 
linen  rags. 

Who  was  the  original  inventor  of  this  spe- 
cies of  paper  is  unknown.  Several  countries 
in  Europe  claim  the  merit  of  the  discoveiy ; 
but  to  which  it  is  due  cannot  correctly  be  ascer- 
tained. It  appears  to  have  been  first  made 
use  of  in  Valentia  in  Spain,  about  the  twelfth 
century.  In  the  year  1260  it  made  its  appear- 
ance in  France,  and  in  1312  it  was  found  in 
Germany,  and  shortly  afterwards  in  England ; 
but  did  not  come  into  general  use  for  some 
years,  and  was  not  brought  to  any  degree  of 
perfection  till  the  latter  end  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  The  first  paper  mill  we  have  any 
account  of  was  erected  in  the  year  1588. 
Formerly  all  the  fine  sorts  of  paper  used  in 
printing  and  for  writing  was  imported  from 
France,  Holland,  and  Flanders;  but  of  late 
years  our  own  manufacturers  have  brought  the 
article  to  a  great  state  of  perfection,  little  in- 


88  THE   JUVENILE 

ferior  in  colour  and  texture  to  that  made  by  the 
Flemish  and  Dutch. 

There  are  many  other  kinds  of  paper  manu- 
factured in  this  country  besides  those  used  for 
writing  and  printing;  as  fine  drawing  paper, 
card,  pasteboard,  coloured  and  stamped  fancy 
papers  for  ornamenting  boxes  and  other  trifles 
of  the  kind ;  paper  hangings  for  rooms ;  blot- 
ting paper,  catridge  paper,  and  the  various 
sorts  of  coarse  papers  used  in  packing ;  which 
last  are  made  from  the  refuse  of  the  paper 
mill,  of  soiled,  coarse,  and  coloured  rags, 
hemp,  and  such  materials  as  are  rejected  as 
unfit  for  the  manufacture  of  the  finer  sorts  of 
paper. 


FORGET    ME    NOT. 


ON 


THE  WASTE  OF  TIME. 


It  was  the  remark  of  a  very  wise  man,  that 
if  a  person  lost  an  hour  in  the  morning,  he 
might  run  after  it  the  whole  day,  Avithout 
being  able  to  recover  it. 

Time  is  so  precious,  and  passes  so  rapidly 
away,  that  it  is  wonderful  that  any  one  can 
willingly  waste  so  large  a  portion  of  it  in  sloth 
and  an  immoderate  indulgence  in  sleep.  Prob- 
ably few  of  my  young  readers  have  ever  cal- 
culated the  actual  number  of  years  to  which 
the  hours  they  consume  in  sleep  will  amount 
if  added  together.  Eight  hours  out  of  the 
twenty-four  are  generally  devoted  to  sleep, 
which  is  a  third  part  of  our  time.  If  then  a 
person  lives  to  be  sixty  years  old,  he  will  have 
slumbered  away  exactly  twenty  years  of  his  life. 

Twenty  years  ! — Consider  what  a  large  por- 
tion of  your  existence  is  thus  spent  doing  no- 
thing, and  how  many  there  are  who,  not  con- 
tented with  eight  hours'  sleep  will  pass  even 
nine  and  ten  hours  in  bed,  when  six  are  quite 
sufficient  for  the  necessnrv  repose  of  the  body, 
I 


90  THE    JUVENILE 

"  Go  to  the  ant,  thou  sluggard,  consider  her 
ways  and  be  wise,"  says  Solomon,  in  reproof  of 
those  who  are  for  ever  saying,  "  Yet  a  little 
more  sleep,  a  little  more  slumber,  a  little  more 
folding  of  the  hands  to  sleep." 

Let  me  remind  such  of  you,  my  young  friends, 
as  are  in  the  habit  of  indulging  many  hours  in 
sleep,  that  one  hour  so  passed  is  lost  to  you  for 
ever ;  it  can  never  be  regained.  The  period  of 
your  lives  is  shortened  by  that  hour  ;  for  every 
setting  sun  brings  you  one  day  nearer  to  that 
awful  period  when  you  will  be  called  upon  to 
render  up  an  account  of  the  manner  in  which 
you  have  employed  the  time  which  was  allotted 
to  you  in  this  life.  How,  let  me  ask  you,  will 
you  answer  for  all  those  hours  and  minutes  thus 
wasted?  To  what  a  fearful  sum  will  they 
amount  when  reckoned  up  together  1 

Consider  this,  ye  slothful  and  improvident 
wasters  of  those  precious  hours  which  can  re- 
turn to  you  no  more  ;  and  so  apply  your  hearts 
unto  wisdom,  and  to  the  practice  of  virtue,  that 
when  the  angel  of  God  shall  lift  up  his  hand  to 
heaven,  and  swear  by  Him  that  liveth  for  ever 
and  ever,  "  that  there  shall  be  time  no  longer," 
you  may  be  able  to  render  up  such  an  account 
of  the  time  and  talents  committed  to  your  charge, 
that  your  Almighty  Judge  may  address  you  in 
these  joyful  words ;  "  Well  done,  thou  good  and 
faithful  servant,  enter  thou  into  the  joy  of  thy 
Lord." 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  91 


PARAPHRASE 


OP 


PART    OF   THE    SEVENTY-SEVENTH  PSALM. 


O  God!  the  silent  waters  saw 

Thy  glory,  and  confess'd  thy  might ; 

The  ocean's  depths,  with  trembling  awe, 
Were  troubled  at  thy  sight. 


Unusual  showers  the  clouds  pour'd  forth, 
And  murmuring  sounds  were  in  the  sky ; 

While  fearfully  from  south  to  north 
Did  thy  dread  arrows  fly. 


The  thunder's  voice  was  heard  through  heaven, 
And  tempests  gather'd  at  thy  look ; 

The  lightnings  flash'd,  the  clouds  were  riven, 
And  earth  to  its  foundation  shook: 

Yea,  all  in  that  tremendous  hour 

Confess'd  thy  might  and  own'd  thy  power  I 


92  THE    JUVENILE 


LESSON  ON  CONTENTMENT. 


"I  wish  I  were  a  prince,"  said  Augustus 
Crranby  in  a  discontented  tone,  after  returning 
from  a  walk  in  Hyde  Park  with  his  sister  Caro- 
line. "  And  I  am  sure,  Augustus,  1  have  quite 
as  much  reason  to  wish  1  were  a  princess," 
replied  Caroline. 

"  What  has  made  my  little  boy  and  girl  so 
ambitious  on  a  sudden'?"  observed  their  father, 
closing  the  book  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  draw- 
ing them  to  him  as  he  spoke.  "Oh,  papa!  we 
iiave  just  seen  the  young  Prince  of  Cumber- 
land walking  in  the  Park,"  said  both  the  chil- 
dren in  a  breath.  "  Well,  my  dears,  and  what 
did  you  see  in  him  more  than  in  any  other  child 
of  his  age  V 

"  Why,  papa,  he  did  not  look  different  from 
other  young  gentlemen,  but  he  was  dressed 
very  handsomely,  and  had  several  grand  lords 
and  gentlemen  with  him,  who  paid  him  so  much 
attention,  and  listened  with  such  respect  to 
whatever  he  said ;  while  if  Caroline  or  I  had 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  93 

talked  only  half  as  much,  we  should  have  been 
reproved,  even  if  we  had  said  ever  such  wise 
things." 

"  Whatever  wise  things  you  can  say,  Augus- 
tus, be  assured  you  are  not  saying  them  now," 
observed  Mr.  Granby  ;  "  for  to  be  discontented 
with  that  state  of  life  in  which  it  has  pleased 
God  to  place  you,  and  to  be  envious  of  the  rank 
of  another,  is  no  proof  of  wisdom,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  of  great  weakness  and  folly.  And 
now  let  me  ask  you  what  other  privileges  did 
this  young  prince  appear  to  enjoy  besides  being 
well  dressed,  and  listened  to  with  respect  when  he 
spoke  %  this  alone  was  hardly  sufficient  to  ex- 
cite feelings  of  regret  and  discontent  in  your 
breast,  my  child  !" 

"  Dear  papa!"  said  Augustus,  "it  was  not 
for  that  alone  I  wished  to  be  a  prince  ;  but 
wherever  he  went,  he  was  followed  by  such 
Crowds  of  people,  all  so  anxious  to  look  at  him, 
that  he  could  scarcely  get  to  the  carriage  for  the 
throng  that  surrounded  him." 

"  That,  I  think,  must  have  been  very  disa- 
greeable to  the  prince  and  his  friends,"  said  Mr. 
Granby.  "  And  so  you  really  wished  to  be  sub- 
jected to  the  same  inconvenience,  Augustus  V 

"I confess  to  you,  papa,  it  would  give  me 
great  pleasure  to  be  the  object  of  such  general 
interest,  and  to  be  distinguished  with  such  atten- 
tion whenever  I  walked  abroad." 

"  If  that  will  be  any "  gratification  to  "you,  I 
think  Augustus,  I  can  put  you  in  the  way  of 
I* 


D4  THE    JUVENILE 

exciting  a  great  degree  of  public  attention  the 
next  time  you  walk  abroad,"  observed  Mr. 
Granby. 

"  Well,  papa,  and  how  is  that  to  be  done  V? 
asked  Augustus. 

"  Merely  by  reversing  the  general  order  of 
things,  and  walking  on  your  hands,  with  your 
feet  where  your  head  should  be,"  replied  his 
father  coolly. 

Augustus  coloured  with  vexation.  "  This, 
sir,  would  be  to  make  myself  ridiculous ;  be- 
sides, the  thing  is  impossible."  "  There  you 
are  mistaken,  my  dear;  I  have  seen  it  done 
many  times :  besides,  a  little  practice  would 
soon  make  you  perfect  in  this  accomplishment; 
and  who  would  not  take  some  trouble  to  attain 
any  favourite  object  they  had  in  view  1  Let  me 
assure  you  that  such  an  exhibition  would  soon 
draw  as  great  a  crowd  of  people  round  you  as 
ever  followed  the  young  Prince  of  Cumberland, 
of  whose  attractions  you  appear  so  envious." 
Augustus,  greatly  mortified,  hung  down  his 
head,  and  looked  exceedingly  foolish ;  while  his 
father,  in  a  graver  tone,  continued:  "Had  you 
desired  to  possess  the  good  qualities  and  amia- 
ble disposition  for  which  this  prince  is  said  to 
be  distinguished,  and  which  render  him  deserv- 
edly an  object  of  popular  interest,  I  should  not 
have  been  surprised;  or  had  you  desired  his 
rank  because  it  confers  upon  him  the  power 
and  means  of  doing  good  to  his  fellow  crea- 
tures, I  should  have  commended  rather  than 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  95 

have  reproved  your  ambition :  but  your  motives 
were  of  an  unworthy  nature,  and  only  calcu- 
lated to  render  you  unhappy.  And  now,  Caro- 
line, I  should  like  to  know  your  reasons  for 
wishing  to  be  a  princess." 

"  Dear  papa,"  said  Caroline,  blushing  and 
looking  down,  "  I  never  wished  to  be  a  prin- 
cess before,  and  I  am  half  ashamed  to  tell  you 
why  I  wished  to  be  one  just  now.  I  fear  I  have 
acted  like  a  very  foolish  girl." 

"How  so,  my  dear]"  said  her  father.  "  If 
I  thought  you  would  not  be  angry  with  me,  I 
would  tell  you,"  replied  Caroline.  Mr.  Granby 
promised  he  would  not  be  very  angry,  and  Ca- 
roline continued  :  "  Well  then,  papa,  you  must 
know  that  as  Augustus  and  I  were  returning 
from  our  walk  in  the  Park,  we  met  aunt  Lucy, 
who  took  me  with  her  into  a  fine  shop  in  Regent 
Street,  as  she  intended  to  make  me  a  present  of 
a  red  morocco  workbox ;  but  in  the  shop  I  saw 
such  beautiful  toys  that  one  of  the  royal  dukes 
had  just  purchased  for  the  Princess  Victoria, 
which  were  going  to  be  packed  up  and  sent 
home  for  her,  that  I  would  not  have  the  work- 
box  aunt  Lucy  was  going  to  purchase  for  me,  I 
thought  it  looked  so  plain  and  ugly  by  the  side 
of  that  which  was  bought  for  the  princess, 
which  was  of  ivory  inlaid  with  gold,  and  with  a 
beautiful  medallion  of  flowers  painted  on  the 
top  of  it;  so  I  told  aunt  Lucy,  as  I  could  not 
have  a  box  like  the  princess's,  I  would  not  have 
one  at  all." 


yb  THE    JUVENILE 

-"  And  so,  my  child,  you  refused  your  aunt's 
pretty  present  because  you  could  not  have  what 
was  designed  for  a  princess,"  said  Mr.  Granby ; 
"  perhaps  you  were  not  aware  that  you  were 
guilty  of  the  crime  of  breaking  one  of  God's 
commandments,  in  coveting  the  property  of 
another  person.  Reflect  for  a  few  minutes  on 
the  folly  of  your  conduct. 

"  Indeed,  papa,"  said  Caroline,  "  I  am  per- 
fectly convinced  that  I  have  acted  both  wick- 
edly and  unwisely ;  for  if  I  had  not  cast  a 
covetous  eye  on  the  princess's  toys,  I  should 
have  now  been  in  the  possession  of  a  pretty 
workbox,  which  I  have  so  often  wished  for; 
nor  can  I  expect  my  good  aunt  will  ever  offer 
to  make  me  another  present  after  my  ungrate- 
ful rejection  of  the  one  she  would  have  given 
me."  "  You  have  been  rightly  punished  for 
your  folly,  in  losing  the  good  which  you 
might  have  had,  without  obtaining  that  which 
you  so  unreasonably  desired,"  observed  Mr. 
Granby. 

"  Dear  papa,"  said  Caroline,  "  I  will  ask 
my  aunt's  pardon  the  next  time  I  see  her; 
and  I  am  very  sorry  for  having  been  so  covet- 
ous :  but  still,  papa,  I  cannot  help  thinking  it 
must  be  very  pleasant  to  be  a  prince  or  princess, 
and  have  so  many  beautiful  toys  and  fine  things 
to  play  with." 

"To  be  contented  would  be  a  much  better 
thing;  but  that  is  a  lesson  I  will  endeavour 
to  teach  you.     Come  with  me,  my  children." 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  97 

Mr.  Granby  then  put  on  his  hat ;  and,  taking 
a  hand  of  each,  proceeded  into  the  street. 
A  great  deal  of  rain  had  fallen  since  their 
return  from  the  Park,  and  the  streets  were 
very  dirty ;  they  had  not  walked  very  far  when 
Mr.  Granby  pointed  out  to  his  children's  atten- 
tion a  pale  sickly  looking  little  girl  who  was 
sweeping  the  crossing  of  the  street.  She  had 
neither  bonnet  nor  shoes  on,  and  her  frock  was 
patched  and  very  ragged.  As  they  prepared  to 
cross  the  street  where  she  had  been  sweeping 
away  the  mud  and  dirt,  she  extended  her  mea- 
gre hand  towards  them ;  and,  in  a  tone  of  en- 
treaty, besought  them  to  give  her  something  to 
buy  bread  with,  as  she  had  a  sick  mother,  and 
two  brothers  younger  than  herself  at  home,  who 
had  not  tasted  food  all  day. 

"  Poor  child!"  said  Mr.  Granby,  with  a  look 
of  great  commiseration,  "  you  seem  indeed  to 
know  intimately  the  miseries  of  want  and  fa- 
mine; show  me  where  you  live."  "  I  live  in  a 
garret  in  Harley  Street  Mews,  sir,  not  far  from 
here ;  but  it  is  a  wretched  place,  not  fit  for  you 
and  this  young  gentleman  and  lady  to  enter," 
replied  the  child. 

"  It  is  my  wish  that  my  son  and  daughter 
should  behold  the  lot  of  the  poor,"  answered 
Mr.  Granby ;  "  and  if  you  have  no  objection, 
we  will  go  to  your  home."  Then  the  little 
girl  conducted  them  to  a  miserable  looking 
house,  and  led  the  way  up  a  flight  of  narrow 
dark  stairs  into  a  wretched  g-arret,  where,  extend- 


158  fate  JUVENILE 

ed  on  a  bed  of  straw,  and  barely  covered  by 
the  thin  worn  out  rug  that  was  laid  over  her, 
they  beheld  the  mother  of  this  poor  child,  shi- 
vering with  a  violent  fit  of  the  ague. 

Seated  on  a  corner  of  their  mother's  straw 
bed  were  two  little  boys,  pale  and  thin  as  their 
sister,  and  as  deplorably  clothed.  They  were 
making  matches,  and  seemed  ill;  but  their 
sunken  cheeks  and  eager  looks  proclaimed  that 
they  were  suffering  more  from  hunger  and  cold 
than  any  other  ailment.  On  inquiry,  Mr.  Gran- 
by  learned  that  the  father  of  this  distressed  fa- 
mily was  dead ;  that  the  mother  had  long  been 
too  ill  to  work;  and  their  whole  subsistence 
depended  on  the  few  halfpence  the  children  were 
able  to  obtain  by  selling  matches,  and  sweeping 
the  streets  in  wet  weather. 

Desirous  of  impressing  on  the  minds  of  his 
children  the  folly  of  their  late  conduct,  Mr. 
Granby  turned  to  Augustus  and  Caroline,  who 
stood  gazing  with  tearful  eyes  on  the  Sad  scene 
before  them,  and  said,  "  It  is  only,  my  children, 
by  becoming  acquainted  with  the  miseries  and 
woes  of  your  fellow  creatures,  and  by  contrast- 
ing their  lot  with  your  own,  that  you  will  learn 
to  be  thankful  to  the  Almighty  for  the  great  and 
manifold  blessings  you  enjoy.  If  you  were  un- 
happy at  beholding  the  attention  that  was  paid 
to  the  young  prince,  and  envied  the  beautiful 
and  costly  gifts  intended  for  a  child  that  is 
perhaps  destined  to  be  your  sovereign,  what 
must  this  girl  feel,  when  she  daily  and  hourly 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  U(J 

.sees  pass  her  so  many  thousands  richly  clothed,, 
fed  with  dainties,  and  riding  at  their  ease  in 
carriages,  while  she  has  barely  rags  sufficient  to 
cover  her  shivering  limbs,  is  starving  for  want 
of  food,  and  forced  to  traverse  the  streets  with 
naked  feet  to  earn  a  scanty  morsel  for  the  sup- 
port of  two  helpless  brothers  and  a  dying  parent." 
Then  turning  to  the  little  girl,  he  asked  her  if 
she  did  not  feel  very  unhappy  and  discontented 
when  she  saw  so  many  persons  better  off  than 
herself,  especially  those  that  rode  in  carriages, 
and  wore  fine  clothes,  and  had  servants  to  wait 
upon  them.  "  No,  sir,"  replied  the  little  girl, 
"  I  should  be  sorry  to  be  so  wicked  as  to  envy 
the  prosperity  of  others ;  neither  would  their 
becoming  poor  like  me  do  us  any  good.  My 
mother  has  taught  me  to  bear  with  patience  the 
ills  and  crosses  of  this  life ;  and  I  am  very  thank- 
ful if  I  but  have  the  good  fortune  to  bring  home 
sufficient  money  to  procure  us  bread  for  the  day, 
and  we  desire  no  more.  This  is  enough  to  make 
us  very  grateful,  since  we  have  often  known  the 
want  of  food  from  one  day  to  another." 

Mr.  Granby  commended  this  poor  child  for 
her  contented  heart,  and  gave  her  some  money 
to  purchase  nourishment  for  her  mother  and 
brothers;  and  left  the  house,  promising  soon 
to  call  again. 

"I  promised  you  a  lesson  on  content,  my 
children,"  said  Mr.  Granby;  "I  think  you 
have  had  more  than  one  this  day;  may  you 
long  hold  them  in  remembrance." 


100  THE    JUVENILE 


Augustus    and    Caroline   had   been  sensibly 
touched  by  the  scene  of  want  and  wretched- 
ness  they   had  just   witnessed ;    they    needed 
no  further  conviction  of  their  error,  but  both 
of  them   candidly   acknowledged   how   wrong 
they  had  been,  and  entreated   their  father  to 
forgive   their   fault.      And    Caroline    told    her 
father  she  had  a  half-crown  piece  in  her  pos- 
session, and  begged  his  permission  to  expend 
it  in  buying  a  frock  for  the  little  girl  who  was 
in   such   a   distressed   state.      "  Half-a-crown, 
I  fear,  will  not  be  sufficient  for  that  purpose," 
replied  her  father.     "But  I  have  two  shillings 
which  I  will  add  to  the  half-crown,  and  that 
will  I  dare  say,  be  enough  to  buy  the  gown," 
said  Augustus,  eagerly  putting   his  little   sav- 
ings into  his  sister's  hand.     To  this  sum  Mr. 
Granby  added  enough  money  to  purchase  shoes 
for  the  little  girl,  and  a  suit  of  warm  clothes 
for   each   of  the    little   boys.    Caroline   made 
choice  of  a  strong  stout  plaided  stuff,  proper 
to  make  garments  for  the  poor,  and  this  she 
undertook  to   cut  out    and  make  up    herself; 
and  when  she  had   completed  her  work,  her. 
papa  took  her  and  Augustus  to  carry  it  to  the 
poor  child. 

They  found  the  mother  much  improved  in 
health ;  and  Caroline  experienced  so  much 
happiness  in  beholding  the  rapture  of  the 
children,  and  the  gratitude  of  the  mother, 
when  she  produced  the  clothes,  that  when 
she  returned  home,  she  threw  her  arms  about 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  101 

her  father's  neck,  and  said,  "Dear  papa!  I 
do  not  think  the  young  princess  could  have 
felt  half  such  real  pleasure  when  she  received 
those  beautiful  toys  that  I  coveted  so  much, 
as  I  did  when  I  beheld  that  poor  half  naked 
child  clothed  in  the  work  of  my  own  hands, 
and  witnessed  the  delight  with  which  her 
mother  regarded  her." 

"  Be  assured,  the  princess  did  not  feel  half  so 
happy  as  you  did,"  replied  Mr.  Granby,  ten- 
derly embracing  his  little  girl.  "  The  pleasure 
that  arises  from  the  possession  of  trifles  soon 
ceases  to  chann  us ;  but  that  which  springs 
from  the  performance  of  a  good  and  benevo- 
lent action  is  the  most  delightful  of  all  hu- 
man enjoyments,  and  leaves  a  sweet  satisfac- 
tion on  the  mind,  which  is  indeed  a  foretaste 
of  that  "  peace  of  God  which  passes  all  un- 
derstanding." 


K 


102  THE    JUVENILE 


the 


BUTTETFLY  FLOWER. 


This  rare  plant  is  a  native  of  Trinidad,  where 
it  is  known  by  the  name  of  the  vegetable  butter- 
fly. It  grows  on  the  bark  of  the  calabash  trees 
on  the  highest  ridge  of  mountains  in  the  isl- 
and, which  form  the  valley  of  Maraval:  this 
is  the  only  spot  where  it  is  known  to  grow, 
and  even  here  it  is  very  scarce.  The  plant 
is  about  two  feet  in  height ;  it  \  makes  two 
bulbs  annually,  each  surmounted  by  a  hard 
thick  folded  leaf  spotted  with  purple.  It  may 
be  properly  termed  a  succulent  plant ;  and, 
like  most  plants  with  singular  shaped  petals, 
belongs  to  the  class  gynandria.  The  order 
is  monandria. 

The  form  of  this  extraordinary  flower  re- 
sembles a  butterfly  with  the  wings  expanded, 
having  the  antennae  (which  are  veiy  long,) 
the  shield,  and  that  part  which  is  like  the 
body  of  the  butterfly,  perfectly  formed.  The 
lower   petals    of  the   flower    arc   of  a  brilliant 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  103 

golden  colour,  bordered  very  richly  with  scar- 
let, at  the  extreme  edge  of  which  there  is  a 
delicate  fringe  of  a  lighter  yellow.  The  upper 
wings  (if  we  may  use  the  term)  are  orange 
barred  with  scarlet  The  whole  flower  pre- 
sents a  most  striking  and  beautiful  appearance 
to  the  eye.  When  once  it  begins  to  blossom, 
there  is  a  constant  succession  of  flowers  from 
the  same  stem,  each  flower  lasting  ten  or  twelve 
days;  fourteen  days  after  one  has  faded,  an- 
other comes  forth,  and  so  continues  until 
twelve  or  more  flowers  have  been  produced, 
according  to  the  age  and  vigour  of  the  plant. 
Who  can  contemplate  with  indifference  the 
endless  variety  and  beautiful  order  of  the 
vegetable  world,  and  not  feel  their  hearts  filled 
with  admiration  and  gratitude  towards  that 
Almighty  Being  who  has  created  so  much  to 
delight  our  eyes  and  supply  our  wants  1  When 
we  look  around  us,  and  behold  the  glorious 
firmament  spread  out  like  a  canopy  above,  the 
earth  beneath  covered  with  verdure,  and  span- 
gled with  flowers  of  a  thousand  lovely  hues, 
with  all  the  groves  and  woods,  streams  of 
water,  hills  and  valleys  surrounding  us,  are 
not  we  led  to  adore  that  Divine  Providence 
which  has  given  all  these  things  for  the  use 
and  benefit  of  man,  and  to  exclaim,  in  the 
words  of  the  inspired  writer,  "  How  won- 
drous are  thy  works,  O  Lord !  in  wisdom  hast 
thou  formed  them  all  V 


104  THE    JUVENILE 


THE 


RETURN  OF  THE  SWALLOW. 


Lo  !  spring's  gay  herald  fluttering  with  delight, 
The  joyous  swallow,  is  already  here, 
Who  still  proclaims  her  welcome  visit  near. 
When  first  we  hail  him  in  his  circling  flight, 
He  tells  of  smiling  skies  and  seasons  bright, 
Of  vernal  buds,  and  all  that  shall  appear 
When  summer  crowns  with  flowery  wreaths  the 

year ; 
And,   dress'd  in  rich    luxuriance,    charms   the 

sight. 
He  hastes  to  meet  her  when  her  first  soft  gale 
Sighs   with    sweet   breath    amidst  her  leafless 

bowers ; 
When  early  violets  open  in  the  vale, 
And  April    peeps   through    rainbow   suns  and 

showers : 
Ere   song  of  nightingale  with  thrilling  strains 
Floats    on   the    evening    gale    o'er    moonlight 

plains. 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  105 


ORIGIN 


THE  CHRISTIAN  SABBATH. 


The  Son  of  man  is  Lord  also  of  the  sabbath  day. 

Luke,  vi. 


The  Christian  sabbath  (or  Sunday  as  it  is 
usually  called)  was  instituted  by  the  apostles 
after  the  resurrection  of  our  Saviour,  in  order 
to  commemorate  that  great  event  when  the  Son 
of  righteousness  arose  with  healing  in  his  wings, 
to  give  light  and  life  to  those  that  sat  in  dark- 
ness and  under  the  shadow  of  death.  This 
day  was  considered  by  the  followers  of  Him 
who  declared  himself  to  be  "  Lord  also  of  the 
sabbath,"  as  a  day  of  peculiar  holiness ;  a  day 
to  be  held  in  reverence  by  all  men,  and  was 
called  by  them  the  "  Lord's  Day ;"  and  ap- 
pears to  have  been  established  more  particular- 
K2 


106  THE    JUVENILE 

ly  after  the  Day  of  Pentecost,  or  Whit  Sun- 
day, when  the  Holy  Spirit  descended  on  the 
disciples  in  the  likeness  of  fire.  This  was  on 
the  first  day  of  the  week  ;  and  we  read,  "  The 
disciples  were  all  with  one  accord  in  one  place," 
celebrating  the  weekly  return  of  that  day  on 
which  their  Redeemer  rose  from  the  dead. 
From  that  time  we  learn  (from  the  earliest  writ- 
ers on  Christianity*)  that  this  day  was  fixed 
upon  for  the  performance  of  Christian  worship, 
and  dedicated  to  the  service  of  Christ's  church. 

Another  reason  why  the  Christians  changed 
their  day  of  devotion  from  the  last  to  the  first 
day  of  the  week  was,  that  the  Jews  who  per- 
secuted them  would  not  allow  them  the  free 
exercise  of  their  religion  on  the  seventh  or  sab- 
bath day.  The  first  day  of  the  week  was, 
therefore,  chosen  by  the  apostles  as  the  most 
appropriate  to  be  established  as  a  day  of  prayer, 
of  thanksgiving,  and  of  rest. 

We  may  consider  this  day  as  the  birthday 
of  the  world.  It  was  the  day  on  which  light 
was  created,  before  which  "the  earth  was  with- 
out form  and  void,  and  darkness  was  upon  the 
face  of  the  deep ;  and  the  Spirit  of  God  moved 
upon  the  face  of  the  waters.  And  God  said, 
Let  there  be  light,  and  there  was  light.  And 
the  evening  and  the  morning  (we  read)  were 
the  first  day"     Gen.  i. 

*  See  Eusebius  Pamphylus's  Life  of  Conslantine,  St. 
Jerom,  and  Clemens  Alexandrinus's  writings  on  the  scrip- 
tures. 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  107 

It  was  on  this  day  that,  by  the  resurrection 
of  our  Blessed  Lord,  we  received  the  true  light, 
even  the  hope  of  everlasting  life,  on  which, 
through  the  tender  mercy  of  our  God,  "the 
day-spring  from  on  high  visited  us," 

Let  us,  therefore,  behold  with  gratitude  the 
weekly  return  of  this  holy  day ;  and  hold  it  in 
reverence  as  a  day  set  apart  for  the  study  of 
the  scriptures,  and  for  the  true  worship  and 
knowledge  of  God. 


108  THE    JUVENILE 


1TOUNG   GREEK   SLAVES, 


In  the  year  1668,  when  Cantlia*  was  taken 
by  the  Turks,  among  the  captives  there  Were 
two  Greek  girls  named  Helen  and  Sophia,  of 
such  surprising  beauty  and  accomplishments 
that  they  were  highly  prized  by  the  grand  vi- 
zier, who  brought  them  with  him  to  Constan- 
tinople!, aiid  presented  them  to  the  daughter  of 
the  Sultan  Mahomet  the  Fourth,  for  slaves. 

Now  Sophia  was  the  only  child  of  wealthy 
parents,  who  loved  her  so  fondly  that  they  al- 
most died  with  grief  when  she  was  taken  from 
them ;  but  Helen  was  an  orphan,  who  had 
been  brought  up  by  an  aged  and  distant  rela- 
tive.  Sophia  did  nothing  but  weep  and  lament 
the  hardness  of  her  lot,  in  being  torn  from  her 


*  Candia  is  a  Greek  island  in  the  Mediterranean  Sea, 
and  was  anciently  called  Crete.  It  sustained  a  siege  of 
four  and  twenty  years  from  the  Turks  ;  and  it  was  at 
length  wrested  from  the  Venetians,  who  ruled  the  country. 

f  Constantinople,  the  chief  city  of  the  Turkish  do- 
minions. 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  109 

parents  and  beloved  friends.  Helen  also  was 
much  afflicted  at  being  carried  away  from  her 
native  land  into  captivity,  among  strangers  and 
infidels ;  but  she  strove,  as  much  as  possible,  to 
conceal  her  own  grief,  that  she  might  the  bet- 
ter be  enabled  to  administer  consolation  to  her 
friend  Sophia,  whose  cause  for  sorrow  was  far 
greater  than  hers. 

"  Would  it  were  in  my  power,  my  beloved 
Sophia,  to  bear  your  captivity,  and  restore  you 
to  freedom,  and  to  the  embraces  of  those  af- 
fectionate parents  and  kind  friends,  whose  loss 
you  so  deeply  deplore,"  the  noble  Helen  would 
say,  while  striving  to  dry  the  frequent  tears 
that  stained  the  cheek  of  her  sorrowing  friend ; 
and  Sophia,  grateful  for  the  generous  friend- 
ship of  Helen,  would  endeavour  to  be  more 
cheerful. 

It  was  indeed  a  great  solace  to  the  young 
Greeks  in  all  their  troubles  that  they  were  not 
separated,  for  they  had  always  been  friends  and 
companions  from  their  earliest  years ;  and  it 
was  a  sad  yet  sweet  consolation  to  be  always 
near  each  other ;  for  they  could  then  talk  of 
their  distant  friends  and  country,  and  of  that' 
home  and  those  scenes  which  absence  and  slave- 
ry had  rendered  doubly  dear  to  them. 

In  the  seraglio, ,  where  they  were  shut  up,  no 
one  spoke  their  language,  or  practised  their 
religion,  but  were  Mahometans,  and  scoffed  at 
the  truths  of  the  gospel ;  and  many  of  them 
tried  to  persuade  the  young  Greeks  to  forsake 


110  THE    JUVENILE 

the  Christian  faith,  and  offered  them  costly 
gifts  if  they  would  become  Mahometans  ;  hut 
they  declared  they  would  not  do  this  great 
wickedness  if  they  could  gain  by  it  the  riches 
of  the  whole  world.  And  when  they  held  sweet 
converse  together,  and  repeated  the  prayers 
which  had  been  taught  them  by  their  pious 
relatives,  Helen,  who  was  older  than  Sophia, 
bade  her  observe  that  these  words,  "  Lead  us 
not  into  temptation,"  in  the  Lord's  Prayer, 
should  be  particularly  observed  by  them  both  ; 
for  they  were  daily  tempted  to  forsake  their 
Redeemer,  and  it  behoved  them  to  pray  with 
great  earnestness  to  him  to  give  them  strength 
to  resist  the  nattering  words  and  bribes  of  his 
enemies. 

Now  the  young  princess,  whose  slaves  they 
were,  was  a  very  hard  and  unkind  mistress. 
Of  an  imperious  and  unjust  disposition,  she 
treated  all  her  slaves  with  great  severity ;  more 
especially  the  two  young  Christians,  whom  she 
hated  on  account  of  their  religion  and  their 
superior  beauty  and  talents.  Helen,  meek  and 
patient  under  every  trial,  left  the  princess  no 
excuse  for  persecution,  but  bore  all  her  unkind 
taunts  with  silent  forbearance  ;  while  Sophia, 
who  was  of  a  quick  and  passionate  temper, 
often  exposed  herself  to  severe  punishments  by 
resenting  the  tyrannical  conduct  of  her  haughty 
mistress,  who  took  a  cruel  pleasure  in  exciting 
angry  feelings  in  the  breast  of  the  high-spirited 
young  Greek ;  and  Sophia's  dark  eyes  flashed 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  Ill 

indignantly  back  an  answer  to  every  scornful 
expression  uttered  by  the  princess  against  her 
country  and  her  religion. 

It  was  in  vain  that  the  prudent  Helen  warned 
her  friend  against  the  danger  of  such  unguarded 
conduct.  "  It  will  but  draw  upon  us,  my  So- 
phia," she  would  say,  "  the  malice  of  our  ene- 
mies, and  can  be  of  no  service  to  ourselves. 
Remember,  we  are  wholly  in  the  power  of  the 
princess,  who  will,  ere  long,  take  some  effectual 
means  of  punishing  us."  "  Can  she  do  more," 
replied  the  indignant  Sophia  (who  had  been 
struck  by  the  princess  that  very  morning,)  than 
she  has  done?  Have  we  not  borne  blows  and 
insults  from  her,  been  tasked  beyond  our  ability, 
and  deprived  of  our  food?" 

"  Yes,  far  more  than  all  these  she  can  do ; 
she  can  separate  us  from  each  other's  society," 
replied  Helen  mournfully,  her  mild  eyes  filling 
with  tears  as  she  spoke.  "  That,  Helen,  is  a 
misfortune  too  bad  to  happen ;  she  will  not, 
cannot  be  so  cruel,"  exclaimed  Sophia  passion- 
ately. "  Alas,  my  dear  Sophia,"  answered 
Helen,  "  I  know  she  has  it  in  contemplation, 
and  will  carry  her  purpose  into  effect." 

Helen's  fears  were  but  too  truly  realized. 
The  princess,  who  had  found  all  her  threats 
and  attempts  to  intimidate  the  mind  of  Sophia 
were  of  no  avail,  thought  the  greatest  punish- 
ment she  could  inflict  upon  her  would  be  to 
deprive  her  of  the  society  of  her  beloved  Helen, 
whom  she  regarded  with  such  fond  affection. 


112  THE    JUVENILE. 

Who  shall  describe  the  anguish  of  the  cap- 
tive friends  when,  on  some  slight  cause  of 
offence  on  the  part  of  Sophia,  they  were  in- 
formed of  the  resolution  of  the  princess,  that 
from  henceforth  they  should  be  kept  apart  from 
each  other. 

Tears,  prayers,  the  most  passionate  entrea- 
ties, were  of  no  effect  in  softening  the  obdurate 
heart  of  the  sultan's  daughter,  who  beheld  un- 
moved the  bitter  grief  which  rent  the  hearts  of 
the  young  slaves,  as  Sophia  was  torn  from  the 
embraces  of  the  weeping  and  disconsolate  He--' 
len,  and  conveyed  by  force  to  a  distant  apart- 
ment in  the  seraglio. 

This  cruel  separation  almost  broke  the  heart 
of  the  unhappy  Sophia,  parted  from  the  com- 
panion and  friend  of  her  youth,  the  sharer  of 
her  captivity,  the  confidant  of  all  her  sorrows ; , 
whose  gentle  admonition  and  tender  consola- 
tions had  alone  been  able  to  mitigate  the  hor- 
rors of  slavery,  and  soothe  the  anguish  she  felt 
at  being  torn  from  her  parents,  her  country, 
and  all  that  made  life  clear  to  her:  she  gave 
herself  up  a  prey  to  the  most  melancholy  feel- 
ings, and  passed  her  days  in  tears,  her  nights  in 
lonely  watchings  and  unavailing  regrets. 

"Ah,  why,"  would  she  exclaim,  as  she  paced 
with  rapid  steps  the  limits  of  her  solitary  apart- 
ment, "  did  I  not  give  heed  to  the  warning 
voice  of  my  monitress  who  guarded  me  against 
the  evils  I  should  bring  upon  myself  and  her 
by  my  intemperance  of  tongue.      Why   did  I 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  113 

not,  like  Helen,  set  a  watch  upon  my  lips,  and 
bear  in  silence  the  idle  scoffings  of  my  cruel 
mistress  1  In  all  my  sorrows  I  should  yet  have 
had  my  friend  near  to  console  me." 

In  such  words  as  these  would  the  lonely  So- 
phia vent  the  grief  that  oppressed  her  full  heart, 
till  sleep  kindly  closed  her  tearful  eyelids  ;  and, 
in  dreams  of  home  and  of  her  native  land,  the 
poor  captive  found  a  short  relief  and  sweet  for- 
getfulness  from  all  her  woes. 

.  Helen's  grief  was  hardly  less  acute  than  that 
of  her  friend ;.  but  she  had  been  accustomed  to 
hold  a  command  over  her  feelings  from  her 
earliest  years  :  she  made  no  loud  lamentations, 
nor  vented  her  anguish  in  violent  reproaches ; 
for  she  well  knew  they  would  avail  her  nothing ; 
yet  she  pined  in  secret,  and  her  pale  cheek  and 
jsunken  eye  told  too  plainly  that  she  felt  the 
pain  of  separation  no  less  powerfully  than  her 
friend :  but  Helen  hoped  that,  by  patience  and 
forbearance,  she  might  be  able  to  effect  what 
anger  and  violence  failed  to  do  ;  and  in  soli- 
tude she  poured  forth  her  prayers  for  assistance 
to  the  Almighty,  whose  ear  she  well  knew  was 
ever  open  to  the  petitions  of  such  as  faithfully 
call  upon  him,  and  whose  arm,  she  was  assured, 
was  strong  and  mighty  to  save. 

Helen  often  found  means  to  convey  a  few 
lines  to  Sophia  by  means  of  one  of  the  female 
slaves  to  whom  she  had  rendered  some  little 
service ;  and  these  billets,  dictated  by  the  ten- 
derest  affection,  and  full  of  holy  consolation, 
L 


114  THE    JUVENILE 

served  to  cheer  the  sad  heart  of  the  poor  cap- 
tive, and  fill  her  mind  with  resignation,  and  the 
hope  that  she  should  yet  be  united  to  her  friend 
once  more. 

In  a  Turkish  seraglio,  the  chief  employment 
and  amusement  of  the  women  is  fine  needle- 
work ;  which  accomplishment  is  held  in  great 
esteem  by  them.  Among  those  that  most  ex- 
celled in  the  art  of  embroidery  was  a  female 
slave  named  Reza,  for  whom  the  princess  en- 
tertained a  great  regard,  and  held  her  work  in 
the  highest  estimation.  Helen  also  was  well 
skilled  in  this  species  of  work,  and  few  among 
the  princess's  women  surpassed  her  in  elegance 
of  design  or  delicacy  of  shading ;  but  the  pre- 
judice which  the  princess  nourished  against  her 
entirely  blinded  her  to  Helen's  merit. 

Now  Reza,  the  princess's  favourite,  had  be- 
gun a  most  beautiful  scarf,  which  she  worked 
at  privately,  intending  it  as  a  present  for  her 
royal  mistress  on  her  birthday,  which  was  fast 
approaching ;  and  the  close  application  she 
made  to  her  work  caused  a  violent  inflamma- 
tion to  fix  upon  her  eyes,  which,  not  being  in- 
stantly attended  to,  increased  to  such  a  degree 
that  it  baffled,  at  length,  the  skill  of  all  the 
physicians,  and  threatened  to  terminate  in  total 
blindness.  Greatly  troubled  at  the  danger  in 
which  she  saw  her  favourite,  the  princess  offered 
great  rewards  to  any  one  who  could  effect  a 
cure,  and  restore  the  eyes  of  Reza  to  their  for- 
mer strength. 


FORGET    ME    NOT. 


U5 


"  I  will  undertake  to  cure  the  disease,  ma- 
dam, in  the  course  of  a  few  days,"  said  Helen. 
"  You !"  returned  the  princess,  regarding  her 
with  a  doubtful  air,  "  and  where  should  you 
come  by  knowledge  superior  to  that  of  the  phy- 
sicians of  my  father's  court — you,  a  poor  Chris- 
tian slave?" 

Helen,  without  noticing  the  insult  intended 
to  be  conveyed  in  the  last  words,  replied  :  "  I 
was  brought  up  and  educated  by  an  aged  rela- 
tive, who,  for  many  years  of  his  life,  made 
physic  his  study,  Among  other  famous  reme- 
dies, he  discovered  one  for  the  eyes,  which  has 
wrought  many  wonderful  cures,  and  has  seldom 
been  known  to  fail  of  success,  even  in  cases  of 
the  greatest  danger.  He  taught  me  to  know 
the  herbs  of  which  this  valuable  medicine  is 
composed,  and  likewise  to  prepare  it.  If  you 
will  allow  me  a  trial  of  my  skill,  I  fear  not  I 
shall  be  able  to  restore  sight  to  your  servant 
Reza  within  the  space  of  seven  days." 

Reza,  being  made  acquainted  with  Helen's 
proposal,  eagerly  accepted  her  proffered  ser- 
vices declaring  herself  willing  to  undergo  any 
operation,  or  endure  any  application,  however 
painful,  that  was  considered  as  necessary  to- 
wards the  restoration  of  her  sight. 

In  order  to  effect  a  perfect  cure,  Helen  de- 
sired that  her  patient  might  be  given  up  entire- 
ly to  her  care,  and  consent  to  admit  no  one  but 
herself  into  her  chamber  until  the  seven  days 
had  expired.    She  then  culled  the  herbs,  and 


116  THE    JUVENILE 

prepared  the  proper  medicines ;  which  being 
done,  she  let  fall  three  drops  of  the  liquor  into 
the  eyes  of  the  suffering  Reza,  carefully  ex- 
cluding the  light  by  means  of  a  bandage  of 
fine  muslin,  repeating  her  application  every 
four  hours,  and  giving  her  a  composing  draught 
from  time  to  time  ;  taking  her  station  as  nurse 
by  the  bedside,  ever  and  anon  cheering  her 
patient  with  some  words  of  kindness  and  com- 
fort. 

Helen  felt  a  sweet  satisfaction  in  her  mind 
while  watching  by  the  sick  bed  of  Reza,  and 
performing  for  her  those  little  offices  of  atten- 
tion which  are  so  grateful  to  the  sick.  In  so 
doing  Helen  felt  that  she  was  fulfilling  that 
command  of  her  Blessed  Master  which  bids  us 
"  to  love  our  enemies,  and  to  do  good  to  those 
that  hate  and  despitefully  use  us." 

During  the  course  of  her  illness,  Reza  often 
mentioned  the  scarf  she  had  been  working,  and 
expressed  no  little  regret  that  her  unhappy  ma- 
lady should  have  prevented  her  from  finishing 
it  against  the  festival  of  the  princess's  birthday. 
Helen,  willing  to  complete  the  good  deed  she 
had  begun,  and  anxious  to  set  both  the  mind 
and  body  of  Reza  at  ease,  found  means  to  pro- 
cure the  scarf  unknown  to  her  patient ;  and, 
during  those  days  which  were  passed  by  Reza 
in  darkness,  Helen  worked  indefatigably  by  her 
side,  without  informing  her  of  the  nature  of  the 
employment  in  which  she  was  engaged. 

"  Who  knows,"  thought  Helen,  while   she 


FORGET    ME    NOT. 


117 


plied  her  needle  with  increasing  ardour,  "  but 
Reza  may  be  the  means  of  restoring  to  me  my 
beloved  Sophia  1  She  has  great  influence  with 
the  princess ;  if  she  should  be  grateful  to  me,  I 
may  once  more  behold  my  friend  !"  Helen 
worked  so  indefatigably  that,  at  the  expiration 
of  the  seven  days,  the  scarf  was  finished;  and 
Helen  ventured  to  remove  the  bandage  from  the 
eyes  of  Reza.  The  remedy  had  succeeded  so 
well  that  the  patient  declared  that  she  was  free 
from  pain,  and  could  plainly  discern  the  mi- 
nutest objects.  "  1  can  see  so  well,"  said  she, 
"  that  I  could  arrange  the  most  delicate  shading 
of  my  embroidery  if  I  were  at  work.  Ah !  I 
wish  I  could  complete  my  scarf;  yet,  alas  '• 
that  is  but  a  vain  wish,  since  it  wants  but  two 
days  to  the  birthday  of  my  royal  mistress. 

She  had  scarcely  spoken  these  words,  when 
the  scarf  was  laid  before  her  perfectly  finished. 
Reza,  astonished  at  what  she  beheld,  for  some 
minutes  doubted  its  reality ;  and  imagined  it  was 
some  deception  of  her  eyesight,  till  assured  by 
Helen  of  its  certainty.  "  What  shall  I  do  for 
you  V  cried  the  delighted  Reza.  "  How  shall 
I  reward  you  for  your  generosity  towards  me  ? 
You  have  not  only  restored  to  me  the  sight  of 
my  eyes,  but  have  also  done  me  this  great  kind- 
ness," continued  she,  examining  the  work  with 
infinite  satisfaction. 

"  You    are    under   no    obligation,"    replied 
Helen,  smiling  at  Reza's    vivacity  ;    "  my  re- 
ligion,   which    is    so    much    despised    by    vour 
L  2 


118  THE    JUVENILE 

countrymen,  teaches  us  to  do  good  to  all  peo- 
ple ;  to  those  that  hate  as  well  as  to  those  that 
love  us.  In  so  doing  we  do  but  our  duty  to 
God,  and  no  more." 

"  Excellent  young  Christian  !"  replied  Reza, 
filled  with  admiration  at  her  virtue ;  "  tell  me 
at  least  how  I  can  reward  you  for  what  you 
have  done  for  me.  My  royal  mistress  will,  for 
my  sake,  bestow  on  you  either  a  casket  of  the 
richest  jewels  in  her  treasury,  or  the  most  mag- 
nificent attire." 

"  These  costly  gifts,"  replied  Helen,  "  would 
be  useless  to  a  captive  like  myself.  Prevail 
upon  your  royal  mistress  to  restore  to  me  the 
friend  who  is  dearer  to  me  than  the  whole 
world  beside  ;  from  whose  company  I  have 
been  separated  for  the  space  of  a  long  month. 
This  is  all  I  ask  of  you." 

Reza,  who  had  been  brought  up  from  child- 
hood in  the  seraglio,  and  had  never  been  taught 
to  appreciate  the  value  of  a  friendship  like  that 
which  subsisted  between  the  young  Greeks, 
could  not  help  thinking  Helen  very  simple  in 
preferring  the  company  of  Sophia  to  the  splen- 
did ornaments  and  dresses  she  might  have  de- 
manded in  payment  of  her  services  ;  for  Reza 
considered  fine  clothes  and  riches  were  the 
greatest  blessings  in  life  ;  but,  nevertheless,  she 
readily  engaged  to  forward  her  views  with  the 
princess. 

Delighted  at  the  restoration  of  her  favourite 
slave,  and  by  the  beautiful  gift  that  Reza  laid 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  119 

at  her  feet,  the  princess  aceeded  to  her  request, 
and  gave  orders  that  the  rebellious  Greek  should 
be  restored  to  her  usual  place  in  the  seraglio. 
Reza  felt  very  happy  that  she  was  the  means 
of  rewarding  her  benefactress,  and  could  hardly 
refrain  from  mingling  her  tears  with  those  which 
were  shed  by  the  young  captives  as  they  folded 
their  arms  round  each  other,  and  wept  upon 
each  other's  necks,  with  emotions  of  joy  so 
great  that  it  almost  resembled  the  bitterness 
of  grief.  Few  could  behold  the  meeting  be- 
tween the  friends  without  tears:  the  princess 
alone  beheld  the  scene  unmoved,  and  coldly 
turned  away,  dead  to  feelings  which  she  could 
not  understand. 

.  From  this  time  Helen  and  Sophia  continued 
near  each  other ;  and  the  painful  separation 
they  had  endured  seemed  but  to  render  them 
yet  dearer  to  one  another. 

Now  it  happened  that  the  princess  enter- 
tained a  great  fondness  for  monkeys  and  apes  ; 
and  the  vizier,  who  was  aware  of  her  liking  to 
these  animals,  presented  her  with  a  most  rare 
and  beautiful  creature  of  the  ape  species,  which 
had  been  given  to  him  by  a  foreign  traveller ; 
at  the  same  time  warning  her  that  it  was  of  a 
very  mischievous  disposition,  and  recommend- 
ed her  to  keep  it  constantly  chained.  The 
princess  was  delighted  with  the  ape,  and  amus- 
ed herself  with  watching  its  tricks ;  nor  would 
she  suffer  him  to  be  confined,  though  he  was 
regarded  with  no  little  alarm  by  several  of  the 
slaves. 


120  THE    JUVENILE 

It  chanced,  one  day,  that  this  creature,  in 
one  of  his  frolics,  threw  a  vase  of  sherbet  over 
a  magnificent  piece  of  tapestry,  on  which  Helen 
was  employed  in  putting  the  finishing  shades  to 
the  most  difficult  part  of  the  pattern. 

This  tapestry  was  the  admiration  of  the  whole 
seraglio ;  the  princess  herself  having  often  em- 
ployed her  needle  in  forming  the  flowers  :  and 
it  was  intended  by  her  as  a  present  for  the 
sultan  her  father,  to  place  beneath  his  feet  when 
he  went  to  the  divan.  A  general  exclamation 
of  regret,  which  was  uttered  by  all  who  saw  the 
accident,  brought  the  princess  to  the  spot ;  who, 
on  perceiving  the  injury  the  work  had  sustained, 
gave  way  to  a  fit  of  ungovernable  rage,  loading 
Helen  with  reproaches,  and  reviling  her  with 
every  insulting  epithet  suggested  by  her  angry 
passions. 

Helen,  pale  and  trembling,  ventured  to  re- 
mind her  that,  being  intent  on  her  work,  she 
had  not  perceived  the  mischievous  design  of  the 
ape  ;  and  that  patience  and  a  little  industry 
would  soon  restore  the  work  to  its  former  beau- 
ty ;  adding,  at  the  same  time,  that  had  the  ape 
been  confined,  the  accident  could  not  have  hap- 
pened. These  words  served  but  to  incense  the 
princess  more  highly ;  and,  raising  her  arm, 
she  struck  with  great  violence  the  terrified  victim 
of  her  unjust  fury.  At  that  minute  the  ape, 
who,  having  been  severely  beaten  for  the  mis- 
chief he  had  done,  was  more  full  of  malice 
than  usual,  slily  approached,  and  held  a  lighted 
brand,  that  he  had  taken  from  the  hearth,  to 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  12t 

the  robe  of  the  princess ;  which,  being  of  the 
most  transparent  muslin,  instantly  took  fire, 
and  she  was  quickly  enveloped  in  the  flames. 
The  princess  filled  the  seraglio  with  her  screams 
for  help.  "  Oh,  save  me,  save  me  !"  she  cried 
in  an  agony  of  distress,  extending  her  arms  in 
wild  despair  towards  her  women.  In  that  mo- 
ment of  terror  and  confusion,  no  one  had  power 
to  help  her  but  Helen,  the  despised,  reviled 
Helen,  so  lately  the  victim  of  her  anger ;  for- 
getting the  indignity  she  had  just  received,  she 
flew  towards  her,  and  with  admirable  presence 
of  mind  enveloped  her  whole  person  in  the  folds 
of  the  wet  tapestry  which  she  hastily  snatched 
from  the  ground,  where  the  princess  had  angrily 
thrown  it,  and  succeeded  in  extinguishing  the 
blaze,  but  not  before  the  princess  had  been 
severely  burnt,  and  her  own  hands  and  arms 
scorched  by  the  fire  in  many  places. 

Feelings  of  remorse  and  shame  overwhelmed 
the  princess,  when  informed  by  her  attendants 
that  she  had  been  saved  from  a  fiery  death  by 
the  intrepid  exertions  of  Helen  the  Christian 
slave ;  that  she  owed  her  life  to  her  against 
whom,  but  the  instant  before,  her  hand  had 
been  lifted  in  angry  violence.  The  princess 
called  to  mind  all  the  acts  of  tyrannical  cruelty 
with  which  she  had  from  time  to  time  so  un- 
generously oppressed  the  young  Greeks ;  and 
she  could  not  help  contrasting  her  own  con- 
duct with  that  of  Helen,  who  had  so  nobly  re- 
turned her  good  for  evil :   and  when  the  prin- 


122  THE   JUVENILE 

cess  thought  upon  these  things,  her  proud  heart 
was  humbled ;  and,  burying  her  face  in  the 
folds  of  her  garments,  she  turned  away  and  wept 
bitterly. 

Now  when  Sultan  Mahomet  heard  how  Helen 
had  saved  his  daughter's  life  he  commanded 
her  to  be  brought  before  him ;  and  bade  her 
ask  of  him  whatever  she  most  wished,  and  he 
would  grant  her  request.  "  Then,  mighty  sul- 
tan !"  said  Helen  quickly,  "  give  my  beloved 
friend  Sophia  her  liberty,  and  restore  her  to  her 
sorrowing  friends." 

The  sultan,  surprised  at  this  request,  de- 
manded of  her  why  she  did  not  rather  ask  that 
favour  for  herself.  "  Because,"  replied  Helen, 
raising  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  to  the  face  of 
the  sultan,  "  Sophia  has  parents  and  kindred, 
who  sorrow  for  her  without  ceasing;  while  I 
am  a  friendless  orphan,  having  neither  father, 
nor  mother,  nor  kindred  to  lament  my  loss. 
Therefore  is  captivity  less  painful  to  me  than 
it  is  to  her :  and  shall  not  I  have  the  happiness 
of  drying  the  tears  of  those  who  mourn  by  re- 
storing my  friend  to  the  arms  of  those  to  whom 
she  is  so  dear  1  Will  not  this  reflection  be  suf- 
ficient to  sweeten  the  sorrows  of  a  whole  life  of 
captivity  V 

"Noble  girl!"  exclaimed  the  sultan,  filled 
with  admiration  at  her  generosity,  "you  are 
indeed  worthy  of  liberty.  Go,"  added  he,  "  but 
take  with  you  the  friend  for  whom  you  would 
have  made  so  great  a  sacrifice,  without  whose 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  123 

society  I  can  easily  perceive  that  freedom  would 
still  be  slavery." 

He  then  gave  orders  that  the  young  Greeks 
should  be  restored  to  their  native  country,  with 
every  mark  of  respect ;  and,  moreover,  directed 
his  treasurer  to  present  to  Helen  a  purse,  con- 
taining a  thousand  pieces  of  gold,  as  a  token 
of  gratitude  for  the  service  she  had  rendered 
the  princess. 


$24  THE    JUVENILE 


LINES 


AN  ANCIENT  SUNDIAL. 


How  many  ages  o'er  thy  face 
Their  dusky  shades  have  cast, 

Yet  they  have  left  on  thee  no  trace 
To  mark  that  they  have  pass'd. 

How  swift  yet  gradual  was  the  tide 

In  which  they  roll'd  away ; 
How  many  thousand  moments  glide 

O'er  thee  to  count  one  day* 

But  yet  to  days,  and  months,  and  years 
These  trifling  moments  mount, 

And  then  a  century  appears 
At  length  in  the  account- 

And  ages  in  their  silent  flight 
Have  hour  by  hour  been  told 

On  thy  mute  circle,  yet  our  sight 
Their  sum  cannot  behold. 


FORGET   ME    NOTV  125- 

The  eyes  that  mark'd  them  as  they  fled 

Long,  long  have  ceased  to  be ; 
And  those  who  time's  departure  read 

Behold  eternity ! 

And  many  an  eye  on  thee  shall  dwell 

The  fleeting  hour  to  learn, 
When  I  within  my  narrow  cell 

To  kindred  dust  return. 

And  even  now  the  shade  perchance 

That  o'er  thy  face  is  cast, 
Which  tells  the  hasting  day's  advance,. 

To  me  may  be  the  last. 

Then  never  let  me  lightly  shun 

The  lesson  thou  canst  give, 
Since  I  at  every  setting  sun 

A  day  have  less  to  livc 


M 


126  THE   JUVENILE, 


LEAF-CUTTER  BEE. 


Among  the  various  tribes  that  form  what  is 
called  the  insect  world,  there  is  none  more  val- 
uable to  mankind  than  the  bee ;  not  only  on 
account  of  its  delicious  and  useful  productions, 
but  also  for  the  amusement  and  instruction  it 
affords  us,  and  the  example  it  sets  before  us  of 
industry,  patience,  and  ingenuity.  Nor  can  we 
sufficiently  admire  that  good  Providence  which 
has  bestowed  such  wonderful  sagacity  and  wis- 
dom on  one  of  the  smallest  of  his  works. 

Beside  the  well  known  labourer  bee,  there 
are  no  less  than  fifty-four  species  of  this  insect, 
each  distinguished  by  some  habit,  disposition, 
or  form  peculiar  to  itself.  Variety  prevails  in 
the  order  of  their  architecture,  and  the  mate- 
rials of  which  they  compose  their  nests.  Some 
dig  deep  under  the  surface  of  the  earth,  to  build 
their  cells  ;  some  in  the  holes  of  rocks,  some  in 
hollow  trees.  Some  enjoy  the  benefits  of  socie- 
ty, and  share  the  effects  of  their  united  toils ; 
such  are  the  domestic  bee  and  drone,  the  Mexi- 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  127 

can  bee,  the  Americanftee,  and  several  sorts  of 
ground  bees.  Others  dwell  and  work  in  per- 
fect solitude,  building  the  cradles  of  their  fam- 
ilies with  the  rose  leaf,  as  the  rose-cutter  bee ; 
the  upholsterer  bee,  with  the  gaudy  tapestiy  of 
the  corn  rose;  the  mason  bee,  with  plaster; 
the  woodpiercer,  with  sawdust  or  rotten  wood. 
The  muscorum,  or  yellow  hairy  bee,  forms  its 
nest  with  moss ;  and,  from  its  singular  mode 
of  working,  is  termed  by  some  the  carding  bee. 
These  insects,  each  admirable  in  its  kind,  em- 
ploy their  talents  and  industry  in  forming  their 
various  dwellings,  and  in  providing  for  their 
own  wants  and  those  of  their  posterity. 

I  have  selected  for  the  subject  of  this  article 
a  few  particulars  respecting  the  habits  and  la- 
bours of  the  leaf-cutter  and  carding  bees,  as 
less  familiar,  and  consequently  more  interesting 
to  my  youthful  readers. 

The  centicularis,  or  leaf-cutter  bee,  is  of  a 
shining  black  colour,  having  the  under  part  of 
the  body  covered  with  yellow  down.  It  is  one 
of  the  solitary  species,  and  builds  under  ground, 
forming  its  cells  of  leaves  curiously  plaited  or 
woven  together,  like  a  mat  or  quilt ;  the  com- 
partments of  this  nest  are  made  in  the  form  of 
and  about  the  size  of  thimbles,  inserted  within 
each  other  at  the  end.  There  are  several  va- 
rieties of  the  leaf-cutter,  each  of  which  is  dis- 
tinguished by  the  materials  which  it  employs  in 
building;  some  making  use  of  the  leaves  of 
the  rose  tree,  others  of  the  foliage  of  the  horse- 
chestnut  or  beech. 


128  THE    JUVENILE 

A  curious  observer  may  discover  the  leaves 
of  the  rose  tree  cut,  as  it  were,  with  a  pinking 
iron ;  and  may  «njoy  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
with  what  skill  and  dexterity  a  bee,  destitute  of 
any  mathematical  instrument,  cuts  out  a  circu- 
lar piece,  fit  to  be  either  the  lid  or  bottom  of  one 
of  these  nests,  or  prepares  ovals  and  semi-ovals 
to  form  its  sides.  In  each  of  these  curiously 
.formed  cells,  or  cases,  the  bee  deposits  one  egg, 
with  food  properly  prepared  and  adapted  to  the 
future  wants  and  necessities  of  the  embryo  in- 
sect ;  then,  by  the  means  of  its  wax  (which  is 
of  a  thinner  and  more  glutinous  quality  than 
that  of  the  common  bee,)  and  a  circular  piece 
■cut  from  the  rose  tree,  as  already  described, 
forms  a  covering  or  lid,  which  it  seals  down ; 
by  which  precaution  the  young  insect  is  pro- 
tected from  cold,  or  any  other  injury  that  might 
happen  to  it  during  its  infant  state. 

The  muscorum,  or  carding  bee,  is  of  social 
habits  ;  it  is  of  a  yellow  colour,  and  builds  in 
mossy  grounds.  The  skill  displayed  by  these 
insects  in  building  is  very  amusing.  In  order 
to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  observing  their  inge- 
nious labours,  let  a  nest  be  taken  to  pieces, 
and  the  moss  conveyed  to  some  little  distance. 
After  a  few  murmurs  of  disapprobation  at  the 
injury  they  have  sustained,  the  bees  will  be  seen 
to  form  themselves  into  a  chain,  extending  from 
the  place  where  the  moss  has  been  laid  to  the 
nest.  The  foremost  bee  then  lays  hold  of  a 
piece  of  moss  with  her  teeth,  and  clears  it  bit 
by  bit  with  her  feet,  driving  it,  as  she  does  so, 


FORGET    ME    NOT-  129 

under  her  to  the  next ;  the  second,  in  like  man- 
ner, pushes  it  on  to  a  third ;  she  to  a  fourth, 
and  so  on,  till  there  is  formed  an  uninterrupted 
chain  of  moss  ;  which  is  wrought  and  inter- 
woven with  great  dexterity  by  those  that  abide 
by  the  nest ;  and  to  the  end  that  their  habita- 
tion, thus  curiously  composed,  may  not  be  the 
sport  of  wind  and  rain,  they  form  a  shelter  for 
it  by  building  an  arch  over  the  nest,  which  they 
make  with  a  thin  kind  of  wax  tempered  with 
other  matter  to  render  it  more  tenacious  and 
durable.  This  is  neither  the  unwrought  bees- 
wax, nor  yet  the  real  wax ;  but  is  a  substance 
peculiar  to  the  different  species  of  wild  bees, 
and  seems  to  be  better  adapted  for  the  purpose 
of  cementing  together  the  various  materials  of 
which  their  nests  are  composed,  than  to  form 
entire  cells,  like  the  wax  which  is  produced  by 
the  labours  of  the  domestic  or  honey  bee. 


M  2 


130  THE    JUVENILE 


A  RETROSPECTIVE  REVIEW. 

BY  THOMAS  HOOD,  ESQ. 


Ah  that  I  were  once  more  a  careless  child. 

Coleridge. 


Oh  when  I  was  a  tiny  boy 

My  days  and  nights  were  full  of  joy, 

My  mates  were  blythe  and  kind  ! 
No  wonder  that  I  sometimes  sigh, 
And  dash  the  teardrop  from  my  eye, 

To  cast  a  look  behind ! 

A  hoop  was  an  eternal  round 

Of  pleasure.     In  those  days  I  found 

A  top  a  joyous  thing; — 
But  now  those  past  delights  I  drop, 
My  head,  alas !  is  all  my  top, 

And  careful  thoughts  the  string ! 

My  marbles — once  my  bag  was  stored,- 
Now  I  must  play  with  Elgin's  lord, 

With  Thesus  for  a  taw  ! 
My  playful  horse  has  slipt  his  string, 
Forgotten  all  his  capering, 

And  harnessed  to  the  law ! 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  131 

My  kite, — how  fast  and  far  it  flew ! 
Whilst  I,  a  sort  of  Franklin,  drew 

My  pleasure  from  the  sky ! 
Twas  papered  o'er  with  studious  themes, 
The  tasks  I  wrote, — my  present  dreams 

Will  never  soar  so  high  ! 

My  joys  are  wingless  all  and  dead ; 
My  dumps  are  made  of  more  than  lead ; 

My  flights  soon  find  a  fall ; 
My  fears  prevail,  my  fancies  droop, 
Joy  never  cometh  with  a  whoop, 

And  seldom  with  a  call ! 

My  football's  laid  upon  the  shelf; — 
I  am  a  shuttlecock  myself 

The  world  knocks  to  and  fro, — 
My  archery  is  all  unlearned, 
And  grief  against  myself  has  turned 

My  arrows  and  my  bow  ! 

No  more  in  noontide  sun  I  bask ; 
My  authorship's  an  endless  task, 

My  head's  ne'er  out  of  school. — 
My  heart  is  pained  with  scorn  and  slight, 
I  have  too  many  foes  to  fight, 

And  friends  grown  strangely  cool ! 

The  very  chum  that  shared  my  cake 
Holds  out  so  cold  a  hand  to  shake 

It  makes  me  shrink  and  sigh, — 
On  this  I  will  not  dwell  and  hang, 
The  changeling  would  not  feel  a  pang 

Though  these  should  meet  his  eye  ! 


132  THE    JUVENILE 

No  skies  so  blue,  or  so  serene 

As  then ; — no  leaves  look  half  so  green 

As  clothed  the  play  ground  tree  ! 
All  things  I  loved  are  altered  so, 
Nor  does  it  ease  my  heart  to  know 

That  change  resides  in  me  ! 

Oh,  for  the  garb  that  marked  the  boy, — 
The  trowsers  made  of  corduroy, 

Well  inked  with  black  and  reel ; — 
The  crownless  hat, — ne'er  deemed  an  ill,—- 
It  only  let  the  sunshine  still 

Repose  upon  my  head  ! 

Oh  for  the  ribbon  round  the  neck 
The  careless  dog's-ears  apt  to  deck 

My  book  and  collar  both, 
How  can  this  formal  man  be  styled 
Merely  an  Alexandrian  child, 

A  boy  of  larger  growth  ? 

Oh,  for  that  small,  small  beer  anew  ! 
And  (heaven's  own  type)  that  mild  sky  blue 

That  washed  my  sweet  meals  down ; 
The  master  even  ! — and  that  small  Turk 
That  fagged  me ! — worse  is  now  my  work — - 

A  fag  for  all  the  town  ! 

Oh  for  the  lessons  learned  by  heart ! 
Ay,  though  the  very  birch's  smart 

Should  mark  those  hours  again  1 
I'd  "  kiss  the  rod,"  and  be  resigned 
Beneath  the  stroke,— and  even  find 

Some  sugar  in  the  cane  ! 


FORGET    ME    NOT. 


133 


The  Arabian  Nights  rehearsed  in  bed  ! 
The  Fairy  Tales  in  school-time  read, 

By  stealth,  'twixt  verb  and  noun ! — 
The  angel  form  that  always  walked 
In  all  my  dreams,  and  looked  and  talked 

Exactly  like  Miss  Brown ! 

The  "omne  bene" — Christmas  come  ! 
The  price  of  merit,  won  for  home, — 

Merit  had  prizes  then  ! 
But  now  I  write  for  days  and  days, — 
For  fame — a  deal  of  empty  praise 

Without  the  silver  pen ! 

Then   home,   sweet   home  !    the  crowded 

Coach  !— 
The  joyous  shout — the  loud  approach 

The  winding  horns  like  rams'  ! 
The  meeting  sweet  that  made  me  thrill, — 
The  sweetmeats  almost  sweeter  still, 

No  "  satis"  to  the  "jams"  ! — 

When  that  I  was  a  tiny  boy 

My  days  and  nights  were  full  of  joy, 

My  mates  were  blythe  and  kind, — 
No  wonder  that  I  sometimes  sigh, 
And  dash  the  teardrop  from  my  eye, 

To  cast  a  look  behind  ! 


134  THE    JUVENILE 


A  CONTENTED  MAN. 


BY   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,  GENTLEMAN. 


In  the  garden  of  the  Tuilleries  there  is  a 
sunny  corner  under  the  wall  of  a  terrace  which 
fronts  the  south.  Along  the  wall  is  a  range  of 
benches  commanding  a  view  of  the  walks  and 
avenues  of  the  garden.  This  genial  nook  is  a 
place  of  great  resort  in  the  latter  part  of  au- 
tumn, and  in  fine  days  in  winter,  as  it  seems  to 
retain  the  flavour  of  departed  summer.  On  a 
calm,  bright  morning  it  is  quite  alive  with  nurs- 
ery-maids and  their  playful  little  charges. 
Hither  also  resort  a  number  of  ancient  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  who,  with  laudable  thrift  in 
small  pleasures  and  small  expenses,  for  which 
the  French  are  to  be  noted,  come  here  to  enjoy 
sunshine  and  save  firewood.  Here  may  ofter 
be  seen  some  cavalier  of  the  old  school,  when 
the  sunbeams  have  warmed  his  blood  into  some- 
thing like  a  glow,  fluttering  about  like  a  frost- 
bitten moth  thawed  before  the  fire,  putting  forth 
a  feeble  show  of  gallantry  among  the  antiquated 
dames,  and  now  and  then  eyeing  the  buxom 


fORGET    ME    NOT.  135 

nursery-maids  with  what  might  almost  be  mis- 
taken for  an  air  of  libertinism. 

Among  the  habitual  frequenters  of  this  place, 
I  had  often  remarked  an  old  gentleman,  whose 
dress  was  decidedly  anti-revolutional.  He  wore 
the  three-cornered  cocked-hat  of  the  ancient 
regime  ;  his  hair  was  frizzed  over  each  ear  into 
axles  de  pigeon,  a  style  strongly  savouring  of 
Bourbonism,  and  a  queue  stuck  out  behind,  the 
loyalty  of  which  was  not  to  be  disputed.  His 
dress,  though  ancient,  had  an  air  of  decayed 
gentility,  and  I  observed  that  he  took  his  snuff 
out  of  an  elegant  though  old-fashioned  gold 
box.  He  appeared  to  be  the  most  popular 
man  on  the  walk.  He  had  a  compliment  for 
every  old  lady,  he  kissed  every  child,  and  he 
patted  eveiy  little  dog  on  the  head  ;  for  chil- 
dren and  little  dogs  are  very  important  mem- 
bers of  society  in  France.  I  must  observe, 
however,  that  he  seldom  kissed  a  child  without, 
at  the  same  time,  pinching  the  nursery-maid's 
cheek;  a  Frenchman  of  the  old  school  nftver 
forgets  his  devoirs  to  the  sex. 

I  had  taken  a  liking  to  this  old  gentleman. 
There  was  an  habitual  expression  of  benevo- 
lence in  his  face,  which  I  have  very  frequently 
remarked  in  these  reliques  of  the  politer  days 
of  France.  The  constant  interchange  of  those 
thousand  little  courtesies  which  imperceptibly 
sweeten  life,  have  a  happy  effect  upon  the 
features,  and  spread  a  mellow  evening  charm 
over  the  wrinkles  of  old  age. 


136  THE   JUVENILE 

Where  there  is  a  favourable  predisposition 
one  soon  forms  a  kind  of  tacit  intimacj  by 
often  meeting  on  the  same  walks.  Once  or 
twice  I  accomodated  him  with  a  bench,  after 
which  we  touched  hats  on  passing-  each  other ; 
at  length  we  got  so  far  as  to  take  a  pinch  of 
snuff"  together  out  of  his  box,  which  is  equiva- 
lent to  eating  salt  together  in  the  east;  from 
that  time  our  acquaintance  was  established; 

I  now  became  his  frequent  companion  in  his 
morning  promenades,  and  derived  much  amuse- 
ment from  his  good  humoured  remarks  on  men 
and  manners.  One  morning,  as  we  were 
strolling  through  an  alley  of  the  Tuilleries, 
with  the  autumnal  breeze  whirling  the  yellow 
leaves  about  our  path,  my  companion  fell  into 
a  peculiarly  communicative  vein,  and  gave  me 
several  particulars  of  his  history.  He  -had- 
once  been  wealthy,  and  possessed  of  a  'fine 
estate  in  the  country,  and  a  noble  hotel  in  Paris ; 
but  the  Revolution,  which  effected  so  many  dis- 
astrous changes,  stripped  him  of  every  thing- 
He  was  secretly  denounced  by  his  own  steward.' 
during  a  sanguinary  period  of  the  Revolution, 
and  a  number  of  the  bloodhounds  of  the  Con- 
vention were  sent  to  arrest  him.  He  received 
private  intelligence  of  their  approach  -in  time 
to  effect  his  escape.  He  landed  in  England 
without  money  or  friends,  but  considered  him- 
self singularly  fortunate  in  having  his  head  upon 
his  shoulders ;  several  of  his  neighbours  having 
been  guillotined  as  a  punishment  for  being  rich. 


FORGET    ME   NOT.  137 

When  he  reached  London  he  had  but  a  louis 
in  his  pocket,  and  no  prospect  of  getting  another. 
He  ate  a  solitary  dinner  on  beefsteak,  and  was 
almost  poisoned  by  port  wine,  which  from  its 
colour  he  had  mistaken  for  claret.  The  dingy 
look  of  the  chop  house,  and  of  the  little  ma- 
hogany-coloured box  in  which  he  ate  his  dinner, 
contrasted  sadly  with  the  gay  saloons  of  Paris. 
Every  thing  looked  gloomy  and  disheartening. 
Poverty  stared  him  in  the  face  ;  he  turned  over 
the  few  shillings  he  had  of  change ;  did  not 
know  what  was  to  become  of  him ;  and — went 
to  the  theatre ! 

He  took  his  seat  in  the  pit,  listened  attentively 
to  a  tragedy  of  which  he  did  not  understand  a 
word,  and  which  seemed  made  up  of  fighting, 
and  stabbing,  and  scene- shifting,  and  began  to 
feel  his  spirits  sinking  within  him ;  when,  cast- 
ing his  eyes  into  the  orchestra,  what  was  his 
surprise  to  recognize  an  old  friend  and  neigh- 
bour in  the  very  act  of  extorting  music  from  a 
huge  violoncello. 

As  soon  as  the  evening's  performance  was 
over  he  tapped  his  friend  on  the  shoulder ;  they 
kissed  each  other  on  each  cheek,  and  the  musi- 
cian took  him  home,  and  shared  his  lodgings 
with  him.  He  had  learned  music  as  an  accom- 
plishment ;  by  his  friend's  advice  he  now  turned 
to  it  as  a  mean  of  support.  He  procured  a 
.violin,  offered  himself  for  the  orchestra,  was 
received,  and  again  considered  himself  one  of 
the  most  fortunate  men  upon  earth. 

Here  therefore  he  lived  for  many  year*,  during 
N 


138  THE    JUVENILE 

the  ascendancy  of  the  terrible  Napoleon.  He 
found  several  emigrants  living  like  himself,  by 
the  exercise  of  their  talents.  They  associated 
together,  talked  of  France  and  of  old  times, 
and  endeavoured  to  keep  up  a  semblance  of 
Parisian  life  in  the  centre  of  London. 

They  dined  at  a  miserable  cheap  French 
restauratuer  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Leicester- 
square,  where  they  were  served  with  a  caricature 
of  French  cookery.  They  took  their  prom- 
enade in  St.  James's  Park,  and  endeavoured  to 
fancy  it  the  Tuilieries;  in  short,  they  made 
shift  to  accomodate  themselves  to  every  thing 
but  an  English  Sunday.  Indeed  the  old  gentle- 
man seemed  to  have  nothing  to  say  against  the 
English  whom  he  affirmed  to  be  braves  gens; 
and  he  mingled  so  much  among  them,  that  at 
the  end  of  twenty  years  he  could  speak  their 
language  almost  well  enough  to  be  understood. 

The  downfall  of  Napoleon  was  another  epoch 
in  his  life.  He  had  considered  himself  a  for- 
tunate man  to  make  his  escape  pennyless  out 
of  France,  and  he  considered  himself  fortunate 
to  be  able  to  return  pennyless  into  it.  It  is  true 
that  he  found  his  Parisian  hotel  had  passed 
through  several  hands  during  the  vicissitudes  of 
the  times  so  as  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  re- 
covery; but  then  he  had  been  noticed  benig- 
nantly  by  government  and  had  a  pension  of 
several  hundred  francs,  upon  which,  with  care- 
ful management,  he  lived  independently,  and, 
as  far  as  I  could  judge,  happily. 

As  his  once  splendid  hotel  was  now  occupied 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  139 

as  a  hotel  garni,  he  hired  a  small  chamber  in 
the  attic;  it  was  but  as  he  said,  changing  his 
bedroom  up  two  pair  of  stairs — he  was  still  in 
his  own  house.  His  room  was  decorated  with 
pictures  of  several  beauties  of  former  times, 
with  whom  he  professed  to  have  been  on  favour- 
able terms  :  among  them  was  a  favourite  opera- 
dancer,  who  had  been  the  admiration  of  Paris 
at  the  breaking  out  of  the  Revolution.  She 
had  been  a  protegee  of  my  friend,  and  one  of 
the  few  of  his  youthful  favourites  who  had 
survived  the  lapse  of  time  and  its  various  vicissi- 
tudes. They  had  renewed  their  acquaintance, 
and  she  now  and  then  visited  him;  but  the 
beautiful  Psyche,  once  the  fashion  of  the  day 
and  the  idol  of  the  parterre,  was  now  a  shrivelled, 
little  old  woman,  warped  in  the  back,  and  with 
a  hooked  nose. 

The  old  gentleman  was  a  devout  attendant 
upon  levees :  he  was  most  zealous  in  his  loyalty, 
and  could  not  speak  of  the  royal  family  with- 
out a  burst  of  enthusiasm,  for  he  still  felt  to- 
wards them  as  his  companions  in  exile.  As  to 
his  poverty  he  made  light  of  it,  and  indeed  had 
a  good  humoured  way  of  consoling  himself  for 
every  cross  and  privation.  If  he  had  lost  his 
chateau  in  the  country,  he  had  half  a  dozen 
royal  palaces,  as  it  were,  at  his  command.  He 
had  Versailles  and  St.  Cloud  for  his  country 
resorts,  and  the  shady  alleys  of  the  Tuilleries 
and  the  Luxembourg  for  his  town  recreation 
Thus  all  his  promenades  and  relaxations  were 


140  THE   JUVENILE 

magnificent,  yet  cost  nothing.  When  I  walk 
through  these  fine  gardens,  said  he,  I  have 
only  to  fancy  myself  the  owner  of  them,  and 
they  are  mine.  All  these  gay  crowds  are  my 
visitors,  and  I  defy  the  grand  seignior  himself 
to  display  a  greater  variety  of  beauty.  Nay, 
what  is  better,  I  have  not  the  trouble  of  enter- 
taining them.  My  estate  is  a  perfect  Sans 
Souci,  where  every  one  does  as  he  pleases,  and 
no  one  troubles  the  owner.  All  Paris  is  my  the- 
atre, and  presents  me  with  a  continual  spectacle. 
I  have  a  table  spread  for  me  in  every  street,  and 
thousands  of  waiters  ready  to  fly  at  my  bidding. 
When  my  servants  have  waited  upon  me  I  pay 
them,  discharge  them,  and  there's  an  end :  I 
have  no  fears  of  their  wronging  or  pilfering  me 
when  my  back  is  turned.  Upon  the  whole,  said 
the  old  gentleman,  with  a  smile  of  infinite  good 
humour,  when  I  think  upon  the  various  risks  I 
have  run,  and  the  manner  in  which  I  have 
escaped  them  ;  when  I  recollect  all  that  I  have 
suffered,  and  consider  all  that  I  at  present  enjoy, 
I  cannot  but  look  upon  myself  as  a  man  of  sin- 
gular good  fortune. 

Such  was  the  brief  history  of  this  practical 
philosopher,  and  it  is  a  picture  of  many  a 
Frenchman  ruined  by  the  Revolution.  The 
French  appear  to  have  a  greater  facility  than 
most  men  in  accomodating  themselves  to  the  re- 
verses of  life,  and  of  extracting  honey  out  of 
the  bitter  things  of  this  world.  The  first  shock 
of  calamity  is  apt  to  overwhelm  them,  but  when 


FORGET    ME    NOT.  141 

it  is  once  past,  their  natural  buoyancy  of  feel- 
ing soon  brings  them  again  to  the  surface. 
This  may  be  called  the  result  of  levity  of  cha- 
racter, but  it  answers  the  end  of  reconciling  us 
to  misfortune,  and  if  it  be  not  true  philosophy, 
it  is  something  almost  as  efficacious.  Ever 
since  I  have  heard  the  story  of  my  little  French- 
man, I  have  treasured  it  up  in  my  heart ;  and  I 
thank  my  stars  I  have  at  length  found,  what  I 
had  long  considered  as  not  to  be  found  on  earth 
— a  contented  man. 


P.  S.  There  is  no  calculating  on  human 
happiness.  Since  writing  the  foregoing,  the 
law  of  idemnity  has  been  passed,  and  my  friend 
restored  to  a  great  part  of  his  fortune.  I  was 
absent  from  Paris  at  the  time,  but  on  my  return 
hastened  to  congratulate  him.  I  found  him 
magnificently  lodged  on  the  first  floor  of  his 
hotel.  I  was  ushered,  by  a  servant  in  livery, 
through  splendid  saloons,  to  a  cabinet  richly 
furnished,  where  I  found  my  little  Frenchman 
reclining  on  a  couch.  He  received  me  with  his 
usual  cordiality;  but  I  saw  the  gayety  and 
benevolence  of  his  countenance  had  fled  ;  he 
had  an  eye  full  of  care  and  anxiety. 

I  congratulated  him  on  his  good  fortune. 
"  Good  fortune  1"  echoed  he  ;  "  bah  !  I  have 
been  plundered  of  a  princely  fortune,  and  they 
give  me  a  pittance  as  an  indemnity." 

Alas !  I  found  my  late  poor  and  contented 
friend  one  of  the  richest  and  most  miserable 


142  THE   JUVENILE 

men  in  Paris.  Instead  of  rejoicing  in  the 
ample  competency  restored  to  him,  he  is  daily 
repining  at  the  superfluity  withheld.  He  no 
longer  wanders  in  happy  idleness  about  Paris, 
but  is  a  repining  attendant  in  the  anti-chambers 
of  ministers.  His  loyalty  has  evaporated  with 
his  gayety;  he  screws  his  mouth  when  the 
Bourbons  are  mentioned,  and  even  shrugs  his 
shoulders  when  he  hears  the  praises  of  the 
king,  In  a  word,  he  is  one  of  the  many 
philosophers  undone  by  the  law  of  indemnity, 
and  his  case  is  desperate,  for  I  doubt  whether 
even  another  reverse  of  fortune,  which  should 
restore  him  to  poverty,  could  make  him  again 
a  happy  man. 

\ 


FORGET    ME   NOT.  143 


THE  BETTER  LAND. 


BY   MRS.  HEMANS. 


I. 

"I  hear  thee  speak  of  the  better  land, 
Thou  call'st  its  children  a  happy  band  ; 
Mother !  oh,  where  is  that  radiant  shore  1 — 
Shall  we  not  seek  it  and  weep  no  more? — 
Is  it  where  the  flower  of  the  orange  blows, 
And  the  fire-flies  glance  through  the  myrtle 

boughs  1" 

— "Not  there,  not  there,  my  child!'* 

II. 

"  Is  it  where  the  feathery  palm-trees  rise, 
And  the  date  grows  ripe  under  sunny  skies  1 
Or  midst  the  green  islands  of  glittering  seas, 
Where  fragrant  forests  perfume  the  breeze, 
And  strange,  bright  birds,  on  their  starry  wings, 
Bear  the  rich  hues  of  all  glorious  things  I" 
— "  Not  there,  not  there,  my  child  V 


144  THE    JUVENILE,    &C. 

III. 

"  Is  it  far  away,  in  some  region  old, 
Where  the  rivers  wander  o'er  sands  of  gold  1— 
Where  the  burning  rays  of  the  ruby  shine, 
And  the  diamond  lights  up  the  secret  mine, 
And  the  pearl  gleams  forth  from  the  coral  strand- 
Is  it  there,  sweet  mother,  that  better  land  V* 
— "  Not  there,  not  there  my  child ! 

IV. 

"  Eye  hath  not  seen  it,  my  gentle  boy  ! 
Ear  hath  not  heard  its  deep  songs  of  joy ; 
Dreams  eannot  picture  a  world  so  fair — - 
Sorrow  and  death  may  not  enter  there ; 
Time  doth  not  breathe  on  its  fadeless  bloom, 
For  beyond  the  clouds,  and  beyond  the  tomb, 
— It  is  there,  it  is  there,  my  child  !" 


THE   END. 


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'V,-.  ,  ^ 


